Save John Watson
by Ravenlocks303
Summary: John has had a rough life leading up to this point. He feels useless, and it's up to Sherlock to save John Watson in more ways than 1. Sherlock gives John reason to live, having a friend, someone to break on, someone to care and love him. Story of Friendship and love. Feels, fluffs, hurt, comfort. Johnlock, Teenlock. Trigger warning, mentions of suicide, hard home life, drug abuse.
1. Chapter 1

Hey, starting teenlock story. Please review, suggestions always welcome, enncouragement makes my day and makes me want to write more:). story in progress. Hope you like!

John Watson is a boy in his late teens, currently attending London's 5th Secondary School. He lost it all. He has no friends, no home, nothing.

John was walking to school, as usual, clearing his head and enjoying the fresh, crisp fall air. One of the few things he enjoyed anymore. He breathed in the damp morning air and watched two squirrels chase each other up a tree from across the road. It would be nice to be free, he thought, not have to go to school, or worry about life taking its toll. John was alone, only his footsteps echoed off the sidewalk. He was usually alone. Nothing new.

The sun rose slowly as John made his way to school, painting the clouds bright oranges and pinks. It really was beautiful, and John felt lucky to be witnessing the birth of a new day, regardless of the quality of it. Time and space lost meaning as John absentmindedly walked the remaining way to the front doors of the large old brick building. Time for another day of torture. John pushed open the door and tripped, stumbling in before regaining his balance. Some of his old friends pushed him. Jerks. The bullies spat ugly words at John all the way to his first class, where they departed. Calculus, how fun. John ignored the bullies and their taunts, he was used to it by now. Ever since…

John stopped himself before thinking back. John took his seat at the back of the classroom, an empty desk on either side of him. No one wanted to sit with him anymore. The bleak classroom slowly filled with more bodies and loud sounds of laughter and complaints. John's teacher- Mrs. Pinord- walked in not long after. She was short and mean looking, with pointed glasses and aging hair. The class fell silent and Mrs. Pinord cleared her throat, ready to start class when in came two students. Sherlock Holmes and Molly Hooper. The teacher glared at them before they automatically tucked their heads down and resumed their seats in the middle row, quickly and silently.

John thought Sherlock was handsome, a tall, smart, unpopular guy but friendly and there was no reason not to like him. Sherlock had a bright smile and curly dark hair that bounced when he walked. Molly was his best friend, they did everything together. She was cute, but obviously hung up on Sherlock. She was smart too, and didn't seem to mind that she wasn't popular. They were happy, they were friends. That's all John wanted, a real friend.

John's fantasies were interrupted by Mrs. Pinord. "John, do you know the answer?" John stirred, confused and scared. "Um, no ma'am. Sorry." John replied, heart pounding. "Does _anyone_ know the answer?" She drawled. "How about you Sherlock." "The answer is 50 876." Sherlock replied quietly. Some of the kids snickered, whether at John's stupidity or Sherlock's smarts he wasn't sure. Great, now he looks like an idiot. John internally groaned.

The class dragged on and finally finished, the loud bell signaling his next class. Chemistry. Chemistry would be fun, if John had a partner. Usually he ended up working alone or paired with someone who didn't do anything anyway. John walked in the bright lab, turning the small bottle in his pocket. The bottle contained a pill. He felt Sherlock's eyes glance over him from behind, then at his side and his fingers in his pocket. John retracted his hand and took his seat in the front row. Their teacher was an older man, and no one could pronounce his name so everyone called him Mr. T. Mr. T grinned and walked to the front of his classroom, a pile of papers in his hand.

Tests were marked. John groaned again.

The teacher started handing out the tests, smiling at some people and frowning at others. When he got to John he set the paper face down and looked John in the eye. "John can I speak to you after class please?" He didn't have a choice. John nodded, stomach rolling. He flipped over his paper and shut his eyes. Another D. John stuffed the paper in his bag and listened to Mr. T go through the outline for the next unit. His fingers simultaneously moved to play with the pill. Maybe today.

Class passed and John felt Sherlock's eyes watching him from behind. Occasionally he could hear indistinctive whispering and giggling from Sherlock and Molly. John couldn't help but feel jealous. At the end of class, John shoved his papers in his torn backpack and once everyone had left, walked up with his head hanging low to the teacher's desk. "John," Mr. T started. "That's your third D this month. Is something going on at home?" John simply said "No." The teacher eyed his suspiciously. "I'd like to talk with your parents." John's heart hammered. He hasn't been home in nearly a year now. "They're on a trip. Please don't contact them, I'll… I'll study more, I'll get my grades up." John, desperately now, pleading.

"If your mark is below a C on the next test I'll have no choice. I'm sorry" "Thank you, thank you." John was turning to leave when his teacher cleared his throat. "Uh John, If you want to talk about anything, the guidance office is across from the main office, and I'm here too, and I'm sure any of your teachers is willing to listen and help." John almost smiled, someone cared. "Thanks but, uh, I'm okay." John patted his pocket. No point in talking to anyone. He'd made his decision. Mr. T smiled and nodded, dismissing him.

The rest of the day was a bit of a blur. English was boring, eating lunch alone outside, History was unbelievably dry and then it was time for home. Well, not for John. Now it was time for work.

Tonight he'd do it. He'd go to a park, the park he went to with his sister Harry and his parents, when they were happy. John smiled at the thought of finally being at peace as he walked to the fast food kink in front of his makeshift secret home. No, not home. Home is where you feel safe and comfortable. Definitely not home.

John threw his bag in the trapdoor and put on his work uniform outside in the ally. An apron with the shop logo and a dorky hat shaped like the DUNNs cap. Working for 6 hours straight after school was tiring, but he needed the money. After his long shift with two breaks to eat and rest, using his employee discount, John returned back to the trapdoor.

He slid the box covering the lid off and unlocked the wooden door in the ground. John lowered himself into the 5ftx5ft space. There lay a dirty pillow and blanket, his backpack, a lantern and a small chest containing some clothing and personal items on the floor of packed dirt. It wasn't much, but it was enough to get by. All of this he earned. He dug the space, bought the essentials from a thrift shop and got by. Except for the lock, that he'd bought at a hardware store. The wood was from a scrapyard.

John ripped off his uniform, throwing it on the ground. Wouldn't matter anymore. He grabbed a jumper, bit chilly. John looked at his 'space' and locked it from the outside, pocketing the key. Patting his pockets, John felt the bottle. Exhaling, he stared walking towards the park.


	2. Chapter 2

John took his time walking to the park, relishing in the quiet night air. It was a rather beautiful night, a full moon lit up the sky, surrounded by billions of stars. One could get lost looking at the sky. It was a long walk, the better half of 2 hours but John didn't really mind. It was a peaceful night. The moon was well above John's head by the time he reached the quaint park in the middle of a suburb. As he walked towards it, reels of his memories played through his mind

 _It was the middle of summer. John was 7 and Harry was 9. Their parents were together, happy, sitting together on the bench watching their kids compete to see who could swing higher. Screams of joy and laughter echoed out into the warm clear day. John's hand slipped on the chain and he flung forward off the swing, scraping his hands and knees on the rocks. He started to cry, but Harry and his parents quickly rushed over and put on a couple Band-Aids, hugging him and telling him he was strong, he'd be fine._

John didn't realize the tears streaming down his cheeks until a cool wind blew against his face. He was all alone now. The swings were squeaking, gently swinging on rusty chains. Graffiti stained parts of the playground. The bench looked cold and lonely. John exhaled a puff of breath and sat down on the bench, putting his hands on his knees and breathing steadily. A few moments passed before John pulled out the small bottle from his pocket, emptying the contents in his hands.

John held the speckled pill up the light of the nearby streetlamp, squinting at it. Seemed legit enough, for a black market. With trembling hands, John brought the pill so it was touching his lips.

"I don't think that's healthy." A baritone voice vibrated into the night, startling John. John curled his hand around the pill protectively, it had cost him four months' worth of saving and starving. He turned around slowly, spotting a silhouette against the trees. Sherlock. "And why would that matter?" John asked. Sherlock came to sit next to John on the bench, the light illuminating half of his sharp handsome face while he talked to John. "I can't allow you to do this." Sherlock responded. "What makes you the ruler of my life?" John asked, gruffly. "I may not be known as a nice person, but I am a decent human being."

John chuckled. "Go, please. You don't understand." "Then make me understand," Sherlock said while staring intently into John's eyes. "I'm fine, really. It's for the best. I have nothing, no friends, no family, I'm failing school, please. Go." He was starting to cry again. Sherlock placed his hand on John's back. "I'll be your friend." John stifled a laugh through his sobs. "Thanks but really, who would want to hang out with me?" He became increasingly aware of the warm hand on his back. Sherlock held out his hand. "Give me the pill, John." Realizing there was nothing he could do, John reluctantly caved, putting the pill in the bottle and surrendering it. "Live for Sherlock Holmes." Sherlock whispered in John's ear before disappearing without a trace.

John spun around on the bench, searching for Sherlock, but he was gone. John wondered if he just imagined it all, but the bottle was missing. Cold and alone with nowhere to go, John curled up and closed his eyes on the uncomfortable wooden bench. The only reassuring factor being that nearly a decade ago his parents were in the exact same spot, alive and happy.

It was morning, yet the sun had not yet risen. Straightening up, John stretched his arms above his head, working out the knots from sleeping on a wood bench. "Live for Sherlock Holmes." The words echoed in his head as he walked back to his underground space to get ready for school. How had Sherlock found him at that time of night? Why did he care what John did?

John's mind couldn't clear on the walk to school either. The heat of Sherlock's hand still warmed an imprint on John's back. "I'll be your friend." He'd said. But why?

John walked into his first period class and sat in his normal seat. Sherlock came in, but Molly wasn't with him. Sherlock beckoned for John to join him in the middle row. Now he wants to sit together? John sat on Sherlock's right and the other boy turned and smiled at him. Something seemed a bit off, there was a solemn look in his bluish grey eyes and his curls didn't have as much bounce. "You alright? Where's Molly?" John asked.

"Me? Fine, she's, uh, sick." Sherlock stammered. John had a feeling he was lying, but happy not to be alone for once, he kept quiet. In science Sherlock asked John to be his lab partner, and before class was over Sherlock looked John in the eye and slipped a piece of paper in his hand.

"I'm a good listener. Come whenever." He whispered and glided out of the class. John stood, a bit frozen at the brush of their hands, and unfolded the ripped piece of paper. An address was written in scrawny cursive. John chuckled to himself and left the lab for his next classes.

The final bell rang at the end of the day, and John walked to his 'space'. He left his bag and unnecessary clothing in while he went to the nearest public center to shower. The soap there smelled awful, but it was better than dirty. Feeling fresh, John walked into his work and asked his boss for the night off. Since John was a good employee, he had no trouble. John's stomach clenched as he walked over to the address, weighed down with his bag. He could tell Sherlock's parents that they were doing homework or something.

He knew the real reason in his heart though. He was hoping Sherlock would give him a sofa to spend the night on. Something, anything.

An hour and a half later, John had worked up a sweat under the beating sun. He walked up the dirt driveway to a cozy looking farmhouse, exteriorized with a cream colour and deep red accents. This wasn't what he expected for someone like Sherlock, who dressed well and had a 'higher authority' aura. Inhale, exhale.

John walked up to the front door, put on a charming smile and knocked on the neatly painted wooden door.


	3. Chapter 3

A short, smiling lady with light brown hair opened the door wearing an apron and oven mitts. "Hello, how can I help you?" The woman asked, beaming. The smell of baking cookies wafted out the door and John couldn't help but long for the sweet taste. It had been so long. "Yes, hi, I'm John Watson, an, er, friend of Sherlock's. He invited me over to, uh, work on homework. If it's alright with you of course, I don't want to intrude." John stammered. He wanted to make a good impression, it seemed to be working.

"I'm Wanda," She slipped off one of her mitts and held out her hand, which John shook. "Come on in, no you're not intruding at all, I'm happy Sherlock's got another friend, especially one like you, so nice and proper. Come in! Don't be shy!" John smiled in relief and thanked her while removing his shoes.  
"Sherlock, you've got a friend here!" Wanda called up the stairs. John looked around at the small but cozy interior. A wooden staircase led upstairs in front of the door, and beside was a hallway leading into the kitchen. A room opened up beside the hallway, where a fireplace illuminated the leather couches and TV. The ceiling was a series of rustic-style oak planks, and a few soft lights hung down.

"You have a very nice home," John commented, amazed at the simplicity. "Why thank you, such a gentleman." She giggled and returned to the kitchen. Upon hearing muffled footsteps, John turned around to the sound at the top of the stairs. A disheveled looking Sherlock appeared at the top of the railing. "John! Come up." John took a moment just looking. The other boy's usually crisp shirt was crumpled from relaxation, his hair was free and tangled. He looked… normal. His chillaxed look was so adorable John thought. "Right." John replied, shaking off his inappropriate thoughts. He finally had a friend and didn't want to ruin it.

Sherlock led John around the railing and into a room. His bedroom was not what John expected. The walls were a plain cream colour, and it was all clean and simple and relaxed. A twin bed occupied one corner of the room, and a blue beanbag chair in another. A double-doored closet took the place of the corner behind the door and the last was a clean dark oak desk. Shelves were placed above the desk, occupied by books and textbooks of the like. A few posters hung on the walls, the periodic table and a quote from a movie John didn't recognize.

The plush white carpet was soft under John's socks, this floor would make a comfortable place to sleep. John dreamed. Sherlock spread his arms, stretching the muscles in his chest against his thin shirt. "Welcome," he said before flopping into the rolling desk chair. John grinned and slumped down in the beanbag chair. "Thanks." What was he doing here, in Sherlock Holmes' bedroom? They'd barely met less than a day ago. "Dinner will be ready soon, we can talk after if you wish." Sherlock said. "Dinner? Oh you don't have to feed me, I can come back after," John wasn't expecting to be fed. "Nonsense, you just had a long walk and you haven't eaten since breakfast, MUM, JOHN'S STAYING FOR DINNER." Sherlock shouted the last bit. "Okay dear!" Wanda's voice rang out from downstairs.

"You sure?" John asked. "Course," Sherlock replied and opened his laptop. Clicking a few buttons and turning on speakers, a bass beat started to beat. It vibrated through John's chest, simple rhythmic beat and rock lyrics. "I didn't know you like rock." John said, humming along. "You don't know a lot of things about me, yet." Sherlock smiled, John returned the expression and chuckled.

After a few minutes, someone was pounding on Sherlock's door and opened it without waiting for a response. Mid opening, a deep voice said something, "Sherlock, turn it down I'm trying to do my homework!"

A taller, ginger boy stalked into the room wearing a fancy vest. Upon noticing Sherlock wasn't alone, his eyes widened. "My apologies, my name's Mycroft. I'm Sherlock's older brother. Regrets, that this was my first impression." The ginger held out his hand to John, who stood up and shook Mycroft's hand. Mycroft looked John up and down. "That's alright, nice to meet you." Mycroft nodded and turned to Sherlock. John didn't see him wink and thumbs up to Sherlock before departing the room.

Sherlock was blushing but John didn't know why. Before John could ask, Wanda walked up the stairs, "Boys! Dinner!" She shouted. Sherlock popped up off the chair and led John out of his room, down the stairs and into the kitchen. Sherlock pulled up another chair for John, who smiled gratefully at the end of the table. Sherlock sat to one side of him and Wanda on the other. Sherlock's brother and must be father strode into the room, deep in an intellectual conversation and took their seats on the inside.

"Dad, this is John. My friend." Sherlock's dad beamed at John, "Nice to meet you," John said. "it's nice to finally meet, you as well, Sherlock talks about you a lot-" He stared before Sherlock interrupted him, "Dad, I think mom needs help with the food." Mr. Holmes' mouth opened and closed, then nodded. "Yes you're probably right. Mycroft snickered, Sherlock blushed, so did John. He talks about me? We only just talked for the first time yesterday though? Questioning thoughts ran through John's mind but scattered when a plate of steaming food was placed in front of him. Meatloaf, grilled veggies and mashed potatoes. His first homemade meal in too long.

John waited until everyone else started to eat before digging in himself, being respectful. The food was delicious, and John couldn't help but scarf it down. "Mrs. Holmes this is honestly the best meal I've ever had." Mrs. Holmes beamed, "Oh I'm sure that's a lie, all I ever get from the boys are burps." Wanda smiled. Mr. Holmes, cutting his meat, said "Complements to the chef." Wanda chuckled. "Wow John, you're really hungry, when did you eat last?" Wanda kept asking questions, to relieve the silence at the table."Erm, breakfast." John muttered. "Breakfast? Oh my! No wonder you're starving. Here, I'll get you some more."

Before John could protest, the woman swiped his plate and refilled it to the top. "Thank you, so much, you're so kind." John said before shoveling in to the second serving. Sherlock smiled beside him. "Happy to help." She returned to her own meal. "So John, where do you live?" Mr. Holmes asked. "Downtown-ish, near Angelo's." john responded, slowing down his eating. "I didn't see a car leave, how'd you get here?" Mrs. Holmes interjected. "Oh, um, I walked." Everyone looked with wide eyes. "But that must've taken over an hour? Why didn't your parents take you?" Wanda asked, genuinely worried. "They're… away." The others assumed a business trip of some sort.

"How long are you staying?" Sherlock's dad asked. "Oh, hadn't really thought of that. I can walk back whenever." John said, he just assumed he'd walk home in the dark. Sherlock's mum would have nothing of it though. "Nonsense, it will be dark soon. It's unsafe, you could spend the night." John internally smiled, yes. "Are you sure, I mean it's no big deal." John retaliated. Wanda placed a warm hand over John's on the table. "We'd love it if you stayed." John grinned. "Alright, thank you so much, I just need a blanket and pillow, I can sleep on the floor."

"Ridiculous, you can share Sherlock's bed. There's plenty room, and you don't want a sore back." Mrs. Holmes sat back. Sherlock's face turned a bit pink, so did John's but the parent's didn't notice, they'd indulged in a conversation of their own.

"Well I better get back to my work, thank you mummy." Mycroft excused himself, brought his plate over to the counter and nodded before going up the stairs. John finished a bit later, washing his plate and cutlery, placing them in the dish drainer. Sherlock left his plate on the counter and looked at John, smiling shyly. "C'mon." John followed Sherlock back into his bedroom after thanking Mrs. Holmes again for everything.

John felt warm and full and _whole_ for the first time in a while. "Do you want to talk?" Sherlock asked politely. "I suppose so," John sighed and sat on Sherlock's bed, bringing his knees up to meet his chin. Sherlock sat next to him, legs spread out in front of him. A few inches separated them, John could feel Sherlock's heat radiating into his side.

John exhaled and began his story.


	4. Chapter 4

_This is John's story of his struggles and all that, angsty, bit of fluff,_

"Two years ago, life was going well. High school was good for me, I had friends, my parents, my sister, good grades and was a likable guy. I was captain of the football team, and had chicks literally hanging off my arms. I was living a dream, but all good things come to an end."

John exhaled, Sherlock was still listening intently, eyes focused.

"My mom got in a car accident, killed by a drunk driver one night. It all went downhill from there. After the funeral, my dad was always quiet. He blocked me and Harry out, we reminded him too much of her. Harry and I had to strive on our own, Harry got a job and I focused on school. Then my dad got into alcohol, used it as a coping mechanism. He was more involved then, talking to us, walking around and had lots friends over to gamble or drink or watch sports, but he wasn't the same. He seemed either angry or drunk, all the time. It was hard. About half a year passed like this. Then Harry came out, she brought home her girlfriend, hoping dad would be happy for her."

John shook his head solemnly, eyes starting to tear up.

"When her girlfriend left later that evening, my dad called Harry into his room and he… he hit her, Sherlock he hit her."

Sherlock looked at him with a sorrowful expression but didn't say anything.

"I couldn't do anything, my dad was drunk and strong. I tried to block out the sounds of the belt, and the screams but it haunts my mind to this day. Every few days he would beat her. Every few days he asked if she broke up with her girlfriend and every time she refused. She's strong-willed and wouldn't let my dad push her around, a quality of my mom's. A month passed in that horror. School was my escape, where I could pretend everything was all right, but it wasn't."

"Soon after I started having feelings for this boy in my grade. He was handsome, dark-haired and defined." John paused at the resemblance to Sherlock, but the latter didn't seem to notice so John continued. "I knew that if I came out to my dad he would beat me too. I thought… I thought maybe if he beat me he'd leave Harry alone, Harry was starting to break, so I approached the boy. Turns out he liked me too and we got together. It was kind of a secret until I brought him home to tell my dad. Defiantly I walked in and kissed him in front of my dad. Boy was he angry. Didn't even wait for the poor guy to leave before shouting at me. ' _Both my kids! Seriously both my kids, infected, inhuman'._ My boyfriend ran out on me. Never talked to me again. Of course my dad whipped me, but left Harry alone so it was better."

John realized he just admitted to Sherlock that he was gay. Crap, what if this ruined their friendship? Would he be disgusted? Would he still let John sleep in his bed? Sherlock looked sad for John, and protectively put an arm around his shoulders. John sunk into Sherlock's side.

"Harry found out, she was enraged, flipped on my dad for not being there for us when we lost our mom and all that. She told me to pack my stuff, important things only. We ran away from him. Started a better life. I remember the first night, I was scared. She held me and told me we were safe now. I believed her. The next day I went to school like normal, but it was far from that. I got weird looks, people calling me names behind my back, I got pushed into lockers and all of my 'friends' ditched me. They still bully me to this day. The boy, I saw him once in the hallway. He glared at me, hatred pouring from his eyes. He stalked toward me and shoved me aside, scattering my books and papers. I didn't know what to do, so I kept it to myself and lived with it."

John was shuddering, holding in tears, Sherlock squeezed John's arm and continued listening,

"Harry was graduating that year, she got a scholarship to a fancy school in America. She didn't want to leave but I told her to go, she'd never get another opportunity like that again. So she left, and I was completely alone. I found a shovel and dug a hole, put a trapdoor on it and called it my home. Still, I live there. It isn't much, but it keeps me safe. After Harry left I got a job working at Angelo's, 6-hour shifts. I needed the money. That was my life, school, work, sleep, repeat. I got really depressed, I started taking drugs. No one cared about me, no one tried to stop me. I felt free on drugs, reckless, letting the world slip away. When my boss noticed he threatened to fire me. I had no choice, I needed that job. It wasn't easy, possibly the hardest thing in my life."

"Until recently I'd been better, clean. Then I came to realize how meaningless my life was. Completely alone, failing grades, there was no point in life anymore. No one would miss me if I disappeared. Then you came along."

John smiled up at Sherlock, Sherlock had tears welling up in his own eyes, threatening to spill over.

"You saved me, Sherlock. Thank you." John smiled sadly into Sherlock's shoulder.

"John… I… I'm so sorry… it's not fair what happened to you… geez." Sherlock turned so he was fully facing John and hugged the smaller boy protectively.

John started to sob into his chest, shudders ran through his body and tears dropped onto Sherlock's bedspread. "I just miss her so much. It's because of people like my dad that she's… gone… forever." John shook, quietly crying. Sherlock's heart pained, like a thousand needles sliding into his skin. A lump formed in his throat as he tried to comfort his friend. Unable to speak, he simply rubbed circles on John's back for a while, letting John know he was there and he was safe now.

Some time passed, and John sat up straight, still shaking. Red lines where tears ran soaked on his face. "I'm going to wash up, um, thanks, for, you know, listening, and not judging." He scratched the back of his neck and left the room. Sherlock sighed and lay down on his bed, pondering John's early life and struggles. It wasn't fair he had to go through that alone, or that his dad's a jerk, or stupid people make a decision to drive and it almost completely ruins multiple people's lives. It made Sherlock think how he took his life for granted, everything he had, food, clothes, a roof, a family.

John returned and crawled into the bed. Sherlock lay with his arms tucked under his head, staring at the ceiling. John slid next to him, sinking into his side while draping an arm around Sherlock's waist. Sherlock looked down, a blush forming on his cheeks, hidden in the darkness of the room.

An owl hooted outside Sherlock's window, the light of a full moon peering in through the glass. Sherlock lowered one of his hands behind John, holding his friend. Bathed in the moonlight, Sherlock and John slept as one.


	5. Chapter 5

Sherlock awoke to John panting into his side in the middle of the night. Sherlock sat up and John immediately started to shake, murmuring indistinct words. His murmuring became muttering and his muttering soon became talking. His voice kept rising, the pained words becoming a bit more clear. "Mom, mom, no, please no, dad, no, please, mom, Sherlock!" Sherlock froze at his name being spoken, sounding like a plead, begging. John was close to yelling now, repeating those awful words. Sherlock scrambled, pulling John into him to muffle his voice a bit. He didn't want to wake anyone up.

"Shh, John, it's okay, I'm here, it's me, Sherlock, its okay, you're fine, shhh, calm down, it's just a dream." Sherlock's hand was running through John's hair in a soothing fashion, John's breathing slowed to a normal pace. Sherlock made out lines of tears glinting in the moonlight. Sherlock rubbed John's back and continued to whisper comforting words until John took a deep breath and fell back asleep peacefully. Sherlock prayed no one heard.

In the morning, John woke up first. Bags sagged under his eyes, but the comfort and warmth of Sherlock soothed him, and gave him strength to roll out of the bed and stand up. Sherlock looked so peaceful sleeping, chest rising and falling, face half hidden by a fluffy pillow. Sherlock's eyelids fluttered open soon after and rubbed his eyes, tired from the unexpected interruption in his sleep. He caught John looking, who sheepishly averted his gaze and said in a slightly cheerful tone, "Morning." Sherlock responded with a yawn and a "morning," before slumping back into the warmth of his covers.

Sherlock's mum came knocking at the door, "time to get up boys, school today." John groaned, Sherlock did the same but got up anyway. His eyes travelled up John's body, he'd slept in his clothes, of course, he hadn't any or anything. Sherlock should've offered. Next time. John cleared his throat and slipped on his jumper that he discarded before dinner yesterday, comfortable with the familiarity and warmth. John went to the bathroom while Sherlock changed into his day attire, formal but normal, for him anyway.

The boys walked down the stairs, where Mycroft was waiting at the kitchen table, typing away at his laptop, his mum bustled around the kitchen. Upon entering, Mycroft looked up at them and smiled, "I heard some screaming early in the morning, did you get scared of the trees in the window?" Sherlock grew furious, and was about to yell but John touched his arm and shook his head. Sherlock calmed himself, taking a breath and ignored his brother's comments. John seemed a bit fazed, and looked at Sherlock, "I'm just going to take a walk, clear my head, kay?" John turned to walk away when Sherlock grabbed his arm suddenly, whispering in his ear. "I can come with you, if you want?" John looked down, "I appreciate it, but I really need to be alone for a bit." Sherlock looked hurt, and John mentally slapped himself. "But I'll be back before school and we can walk together, it's not that far."

Sherlock's eyes brightened a little before dimming again, "John, can I tell Mycroft, not everything, the basics, otherwise he won't understand, he'll joke about it and it's not fair to you, once he knows I promise he'll be a better person. He's… special in his own way." John chuckled and said "sure, just wait till I'm not here, please." Sherlock's gaze turned from fury to appreciation, he nodded and stalked into the kitchen. John started to walk down the hallway when Mrs. Holmes called after him, "Not staying for breakfast?" She asked. "I'll be back soon, you don't have to make me anything though, I'll live." John smiled and walked out the door, shutting it behind him.

He breathed into the frosty air, thinking about last night's events. He hadn't told his story to anyone, nobody. What had made him trust Sherlock after a day? Was it just that he was desperate for a friend, someone who would listen? Or did he truly trust Sherlock.

 _Live for Sherlock Holmes._

The words echoed in John's mind as he began his mind-stretching walk in the chilly morning.

Sherlock sat down at the table, picking up the daily newspaper. "So, Sherlock, acquired a new pet?" Sherlock glared up at him. "Mycroft…" He said in a warning tone. His brother pretended to act surprised, "Well I just assumed, you know, offering to take him on walks, feeding him, petting him…" he drawled. Sherlock became angry and pounded a fist on the table. "SHUT UP MYCROFT!" Sherlock shouted, now standing and leaning over the table, glaring at his brother with a venomous stare. "Sherlock!" his mother scolded, but the boys ignored her.

"Why should I?" The elder asked, returning a glare, though not as intimidating. "You don't understand! Stop meddling with my life! I don't need your commentary! You're too caught up in 'deducing' and insulting my life and my friends when maybe there's something bigger going on!" Sherlock retaliated. Mycroft's stare didn't falter, "I do understand. I'm the smart one. I will alwa-"But Sherlock cut him off.

"No! No you don't understand! You will never, not unless your life gets turned upside because of one stupid driver. Not unless your mom gets killed because a stupid drunk decided to drive home. Not unless your sister got beat by your dad, and in an attempt to help her get beaten yourself. Not unless you ran away from home with barely anything to escape the one place you're supposed to feel most comfortable and safe. Not unless your sister goes off to university, leaving you on the streets to fend for yourself, managing school, work, health and your own safety. All. Alone."

Mycroft broke his glare, softening his gaze and sitting back in his chair. His mum was staring now, her hand over her heart. "Sherlock, i-"Mycroft started but Sherlock once again interrupted. "Oh, I forgot to mention his dad became an alcoholic, he had a temporary drug addiction and recent suicide attempt. He had nightmares about his dad, dreams about his mom. So no, you don't understand." Sherlock sat down, finished with his rant. Mycroft placed his head in his hands. "Sherlock, I'm sorry, I was stupid and impulsive." "Don't apologize to me." Sherlock said each word slowly, like dripping poison.

Mum had a tear running down her cheek, "Oh that poor boy." Sherlock got up and left the kitchen to sit on the porch swing to wait for John's return. He was breathing heavily, sweat soaked in his hair, pulse racing. Deep breaths. Inhale. Exhale. Calm down.


	6. Chapter 6

_Thanks for reading, if you've read this far, please review to help improve, suggest, or encourage. All are appreciated!_

About twenty minutes later, John turned into the dirt driveway of his friend's house, strange how he'd only been there one night and it felt more like home than anywhere he'd been for the past two years. John knew he couldn't stay there all the time though, intrude on Sherlock's family and household like an unwanted lonely pest. He saw Sherlock on the porch, waiting for him and smiled, a warm feeling filling his stomach. The walk was successful in clearing his head of intruding, unwanted thoughts and he was in a considerably better mood.

John almost skipped up the steps, but refrained and walked at a normal pace. Sherlock stood up and opened the door for John, whose morning kept getting better. When he walked into the kitchen, however, the atmosphere turned quiet and awkward. Sherlock's mum and brother were looking at him… sorrowfully? Pitiful? John noted the smell of freshly cooked eggs and bacon, and his stomach growled noisily. He flushed, embarrassed.

This broke the tension though and Mrs Holmes giggled and set a plate down on the table for John. "Are... Are you sure? You don't have to feed me," but the woman shook her head and gestured for him to sit down. John grinned thankfully and sat down, not taking any extra time to scarf down the meal. Sherlock joined him with a plate of slightly less food, and a little more composure. As soon as the boys were finished, plates scraped clean, Sherlock's mum cleared them and told the boys to get ready for school.

John watched Sherlock comb his sleep-tousled hair with fluid, repeating motions, he didn't know why it was so captivating. John, having already been packed and no need to change, explored the wonders of the internet on Sherlock's laptop while the other got ready. He was amazed at all the information and games you could interact with on the system. It really was quite extraordinary. Looking in Sherlock's search history, he found some normal searches and some odd ones.

 _Chemical formula for nitric oxide_

 _John Watson_

 _Cool napkin folds YouTube_

 _Proper format of labs_

 _How to get someone's attention_

 _How to know if you like someone_

 _How to know if someone likes you_

 _Economic issues in countries_

…

What was that about? Those searches (you know which ones) were from a week ago. They hadn't even talked. John continued to scroll before Sherlock, glancing at John in the mirror, noticed what he was doing and ran over to John, shutting the laptop with considerable force. His face was red- beet red- and damn if it wasn't adorable.

After that the boys picked up their bags and walked out in silence, both sorting through conflicting thoughts in their heads. Soon enough they arrived at school, walking into their first class Sherlock broke the silence. "Do you want to sit with me again?" He asked. Delighted, John occupied the seat next to his friend. "Hey, er, where's Molly?" John asked, curious where Sherlock's best friend had gone to. "Oh, she, uh, switched schools. Her parents don't like this school much." He hung his head, obviously sad from Molly's departure. "I'm sorry, she seemed like a nice person, wish I got to know her," John replied in a comforting tone. Sherlock just nodded and then the teacher started the lesson.

The class drawled on forever until finally, the bell sounded. John and Sherlock scooped up their belongings and padded out into the hallway. Instantly the jerks were onto John, their bulky leader in front and maybe 4 or 5 guys behind. "Hey hobo! Got another boyfriend?" Kissing noises followed the boys down the hallway. "John, you can't let them push you around," Sherlock whispered. "Just leave it Sherlock, its fine, I don't care anymore."

"You're such a loser, I can't believe you found someone actually willing to hang out with you… or… is he paying you?" Now the leader, stalky and tough, directed to Sherlock. "Oh my gosh, how much? What a loser, fag-" The bully's attack was cut off by Sherlock's fist connecting with his face. A moment passed before the blood started gushing out, and tough guy's companions crowded around their leader but he pushed them off. Blood dripping down his face and into his mouth, he spat viciously. "You're dead Holmes." Then he turned to John. "Got yourself a little bodyguard huh? Wimp." He wiped the blood from his lips and turned, stalking down the hallway, his posse trailing behind him, occasionally turning around to throw insults or obscene gestures.

John turned to his friend, "Why'd you do that? You could get in trouble! Those guys… they'll hunt you down, they have blades… and… oh god, Sherlock, they'll hurt you!" John didn't realize he was grasping Sherlock's arm until the latter looked down at it. John dropped his hand and put his face in them instead. "Don't worry about me John, I'll be fine." Sherlock replied calmly. John sighed and turned away from Sherlock, quickly pacing towards science class.

After school had finished, John left before Sherlock could find him. He didn't enjoy the walk back today, he wasn't headed home. He was headed to the underground 'spot' he designated his. All John wanted to do was turn around and find Sherlock, go home with him, maybe watch a movie and drink hot chocolate. Outside the air was chilly and the wind biting, but warm fantasies kept John at an acceptable temperature.

John unlocked the trapdoor with the key he always kept around his neck and pulled out his work uniform, dusty and dirty from being on the compacted dirt floor for so long. John went to Angelo's, spoke with his boss about cutting his shift down to 2 hours, no breaks, and worked his agreeable shift. John went out the back of the restaurant, closer to the trapdoor. John threw his uniform in and looked out the alleyway, there was a glint, an object reflecting light a few feet in the alley. Probably broken glass, but curiosity got the best of John.

He locked his space and approached the object, it was a phone, and a recent scratch had been made, a thin hairline down the side of the screen. John choked. It was Sherlock's phone.


	7. Chapter 7

Why was Sherlock's phone here, cracked and left behind, Sherlock never left anything behind? John looked up from the phone and noticed another object lying on the ground, a few feet ahead in front of a door. Sherlock's wallet? John picked up the clue and stuffed it in his pocket. Then he froze, realization hitting him like a brick.

The jerks, they said they'd get him. But why was Sherlock here in John's alleyway? Perhaps visiting? Then the jerks probably covered his mouth and dragged him, desperate for someone to find him Sherlock must've dropped anything he could get from his pockets indiscreetly. Thus the important articles left on the ground for anyone to find. Through the door, they dragged him through the door. It led to an abandoned warehouse. Oh God.

John took off, slamming the door open and grabbing a crowbar that was left at the side of the entrance. Instantly John felt the change in atmosphere, it went from cool and fresh to stuffy and cold, ice cold. John had trouble breathing in the rusty air, but continued on, adrenaline pumping. John heard voices to his far left, in one of the aisles filled with rusty lawn mowers and gasoline and other junk. Instantly he recognized the cold voice that had taunted him for months.

As John slowly approached the voices, they got clearer. "No one to protect you now, no one to see. This is what you get for thinking you can punch me and get away with it!" The mean voice growled. He grunted and John could almost feel the hard plastic of a boot connecting with Sherlock's ribcage. Sherlock whimpered, ever so slightly and it felt like a stab to John's chest. It's all his fault, the guilt was eating him alive, so he didn't realize when he knocked a bucket off the shelf until the loud clang of it hitting the floor echoed loudly in the vast space. Silence at first, then their leader whispered to the rest of the group a string of curse words and a "Let's get out of here." Footsteps retreating and the slam of a door far off. Silence.

John turned the corner into the last aisle and saw a heap of skin and sweat and blood. "Oh God" John managed before running to Sherlock's side, kneeling over him. Sherlock was shaking, likely from the cold and cuts. His shirt was in a heap of shredded cloth in a corner and multiple bleeding cuts ran along his abdomen and back. Hair was plastered to his neck and face and already ugly purple bruises started to form on his torso and back. John was trained in basic first aid, but it was obvious Sherlock was breathing. John slipped his own shirt off and pressed it against the wounds that were bleeding the most, applying pressure and praying for the blood to stop flowing.

The bite of the cold air against his chest stung but John didn't particularly care at the moment. Sherlock attempted to speak but it came out a hoarse cough instead. "Shh, shh, it's okay, don't speak. I'm gonna get you out of here, can you sit up?" John calmly spoke to Sherlock, who nodded and hitched a breath while raising his upper body, clutching John's arm for support. John whispered encouraging words to his friend as he helped him to stand up and walk out into the slightly warmer day. "Stay here." John ordered as he quickly went and grabbed a jumper from his space. He didn't want to walk around shirtless, plus it's more fabric to soak up blood if needed.

Hailing a cab, John helped Sherlock into the back seat and then climbed in with him, ordering Sherlock's address to the driver. Sherlock was breathing heavily and clutching at his stomach. John placed a comforting hand over Sherlock's steadying his breathing a little. Seeing the situation, the cab driver drove a little faster. When they arrived, John pulled some bills out of Sherlock's wallet (He'd repay him later) and rushed to pull Sherlock out and support him up the driveway. Still holding up most of Sherlock's weight, he rang the doorbell and Mrs. Holmes answered.

"Oh my" She gasped, shocked for a moment before snapping out of it and into parent-nurse mode. "Help me get him in." She ordered, John nodded and helped Sherlock up the small step into the house. He brought him over to the kitchen and put him on a chair, all the while Sherlock's mum was gathering various medical supplies. John felt undeserving of being there, so he muttered something about having to work and Mrs. Holmes stopped applying antiseptic. "But John, Sherlock needs you here, for support. You can stay the night again, stay, come."

John was sure she was just being nice because of his situation with not having a home and all but still, it felt nice. John walked back over to Sherlock and knelt beside him. Sherlock was gripping the side of the chair with white knuckles, one of these hands grabbed Johns as soon as he was in reaching distance. His grip was like iron, but John knew he deserved it, and anyway was happy Sherlock wasn't repulsed by him. She continued to wrap up Sherlock, apply cream and give him pills to swallow. Soon enough she was done and Sherlock's grip lessened. He had been quiet the whole time, not one word spoken.

John helped him up the stairs and into his bed, it was still early but Sherlock's body needed rest. John went back down the stairs once he saw that Sherlock was peacefully sleeping, planning to leave but before he could he was stopped. "John, if you don't mind, could you explain what happened, please?" Her tone was calm, and there was no anger present, but John broke down anyway, burying his face in his hands. "Oh, John," the woman sighed, heartbroken before walking up to John and embracing him in a tight hug. John felt undeserving, but relished at the feeling of the warm embrace of a mothers touch.

John was shaking with sobs, and the woman rubbed his shoulders until he calmed down enough. He told her what happened.


	8. Chapter 8

Heya, thanks for those that reviewed, it really makes my day and encourages my writing. Any suggestions welcome! Enjoy :)

Mummy Holmes was still rubbing John's shoulders and back by the time he was finished explaining what happened. "It's all my fault," John sobbed into her shirt. "No John, it's not. Sherlock was simply being protective. He wouldn't do that for many people John, he cares about you deeply. It's not your fault." John stayed silent, still feeling guilty but at least a bit better.

"It's getting late John, why don't you go up to Sherlock's room and get some rest, it's been a long day."

John had one, left his stuff back in the alley and two, really needed a walk. "Thanks, but I think I need a walk. I'll find a place to sleep, I'm sorry, and thanks, for everything." Mum frowned but knew it was for the best, "Alright, but take some cookies. And promise you'll come over after work or whatever you need to do. I haven't seen Sherlock this happy since Victor, but you're different." Her eyes were solemn and swimming with unsaid words of the past. "Never mind that though, he needs you John, come for dinner, I'm making pasta." She pinched his cheek and gave him a paper bag containing a few chocolate chip cookies. They smelled delicious and John couldn't wait to indulge in them.

"Okay, I'll be there, thank you, again." John grinned politely. "You're welcome, have a good night, stay safe, if you need anything we're here." She responded with worry tainting her voice. John nodded and left the warm house, greeted by a welcomed cool gust of wind. His face was still soft and tender from crying and the breeze dried up his skin before long. He'd barely stepped down the porch before digging into a cookie, they were not disappointing. It's been too long since he tasted something so sugary and sweet and soft. John chewed slowly and softly, savoring the flavors exploding in his mouth. His taste buds thanked him.

The soft breeze harmonized with the rising full moon, stars twinkled above and the sounds of night engulfed him. Owls and the rustling of branches in the trees calmed John's racing heart. John walked past the school, past the park and took the back roads avoiding the city. Natural environments were more calming and contemplative then city lights and noises. John inhaled deeply, relishing in the smoothness of the air if that was possible.

Suddenly one set of footsteps turned to two. The padding of footsteps behind John were almost silent, stalker-like, obviously someone who has practiced the art of being sneaky, lying low. John tensed, aware of someone following him. John quickened his pace, wanting to get into the city where there would be witnesses. "John wait." A semi-familiar deep voice called behind him. John stopped in his tracks and briskly turned around, a perplexed look painted across his face. "Mycroft?" John inquired.

"I know this is unexpected and at this hour not much appreciated, but I need to talk to you about Sherlock. I am his older brother and therefore responsible for him not getting hurt, physically and emotionally." Mycroft walked up to John. "Let's walk." He said and started walking, long strides which John struggled to match. "Mycroft, wha-"but the elder Holmes held up a finger to silence him. "Just listen. Don't speak. My brother is special. He picks people to care about and sticks by them, blocking out all else. He focuses mainly on one person at a time, whether it be a friendship, romantic entanglement, sibling or another such phase. Ever since Molly left, Sherlock chose you. He chose you whether you like it or not. I must warn you however if you hurt my brother in any way shape or form I will take action. Despite his cool outside my brother can be very sensitive and emotional, so be careful what you say to or about him. Out of everyone he's ever taken interest in I have to say he is best paired with you. You give him life John, and if you leave then he will be broken. I don't know if it's a phase or if it's a forever commitment thing, but John, please, do not cast aside my brother." Mycroft paused to breathe. "He's fragile."

As this was sinking in, John carefully weighed his words. "Mycroft, I have no intention of hurting Sherlock. He is my first and only true friend and I care deeply for him. I will try my hardest not to hurt him." Now John was worried, what if he did hurt Sherlock. What if this was a phase and Sherlock would just one day decide that John wasn't good enough.

"Relax John, I doubt my brother will ever cast you away, as I said, you make him happiest. Plus, you make a cute couple." Mycroft's gaze glanced over to see John's face slightly red in the moonlight before returning to staring ahead.

"Er, we're not a couple." John said. Maybe he thought of Sherlock in other ways, but he was perfectly fine being his friend. Sherlock wasn't interested in more, as far as he knew. "We're friends." John added, for himself more than Mycroft's information. "Yes well, one of you will have to make a move, it's getting rather pitiful when you look at each other when the other isn't looking." Mycroft muttered under his breath and raised his eyebrows, perhaps realizing he's said too much. "Goodnight John." Mycroft said pointedly then disappeared in the shadows. "Wait, Mycroft, what do you mean? Mycroft?" But the Holmes was gone as quickly as he had appeared. John groaned, great, more stuff to think about. Exhausted, John walked to the alleyway and crawled into his space, the familiar yet uncomfortable dirt floor and rough dirty blanket.

John's mind was restless, filled with thoughts of Sherlock, and what it would be like to be more than just friends, if Sherlock would be comfortable or willing. John would be a good boyfriend, take him out for dinner and compliment him constantly. How could one not find Sherlock attractive, how one could not want to run their fingers through Sherlock's curls or hold his long slender fingers or kiss his beautiful Cupid's bow lips would be a mystery to John. _I'm a teenager pining over my best friend, this will definitely turn out great. I mean, even his family thinks we look good together, what if Sherlock finds that repulsive? What if Sherlock isn't gay, or bi, or simply just not interested in me?_

John groaned into the crook of his arm and fell asleep.


	9. Chapter 9

The next day went by quickly, John woke up early, showered went to school and sat through all his classes alone. It had only been a few days since he met Sherlock, but in his friends absence he found himself lonelier than ever. Even the jerks avoided John in fear of engaging with Sherlock. What kept John going throughout the day was the fact that he gets to see Sherlock later. He still feels tremendously guilty but the need for a friend, the need to apologize and make amends was too much to bear.

John finished school, went to work and hurried over the Holmes's dwelling. John took a breath and knocked on the door. Footsteps echoed from inside and a female voice yelled out that she was coming. A few moments later the aging woman opened the door and embraced John with a tight hug. "John, so good to see you again. Sherlock's upstairs in his room, hasn't stopped asking when you'd come around. Oh he'll be so happy!" She squealed then retreated into the house. John smiled, he hadn't stopped thinking about Sherlock either. John eagerly climbed the stairs, although careful not to make too much noise. John rounded the banister and softly knocked on Sherlock's bedroom door, which was currently closed. His door was a light cream color, matching the rest of the house. A simple rectangular design decorated the otherwise plain door.

A soft deep voice came from within, "Come in." John turned the brass handle and walked in the room, smiling. "Hello." John chirped. Sherlock spun around to face John in his chair, and John's grin faltered. Sherlock had a faint black eye and a blunt scrape hiding underneath his curls above his ear. A bruise was just visible under his collared shirt that was undone a few buttons. "Hey, I missed you." Sherlock said, quirking a smile but John's face resumed straight. "Sherlock, oh God, I'm sorry, are you okay?" John scooted over to Sherlock's side and touched his arm. The comforting gesture seemed to perk Sherlock's interest more than intended however, because his eyes never looked away from John's strong warm hand clutching his arm until John reluctantly let go and muttered an apology.

"I'm fine John, no need to worry. It's not your fault." John tried to cut in but Sherlock held up a hand. "No, it wasn't your fault. I chose to punch that guy in the face, frankly he did deserve it but that's not the point. The point is that I'll heal and it's not your fault, okay?" Sherlock pointed his gaze on John, making sure his friend understands. "Okay..." John reluctantly answers. "Great, how'd you like to go to the park, grab some food and hang out for a bit?" Sherlock asked, although he looked a bit shaky. John passed it off as side effects to his injuries and tried to lighten the mood. "Is Sherlock Holmes asking me out on a date?" John chuckled, then realized that he might've embarrassed Sherlock, maybe scared him off, made him feel uncomfortable, but this really was what John wanted and maybe he'd just lost his chance. How inappropriate, he scolded himself, mentally beating his conscious mind. Sherlock squirmed.

"A date is when you ask someone you want to be more than friends with to have fun, possibly eat and hang out, correct?" Unreadable expression. Curious, John went along. "Yea, that's right." John responded. "Then yes, I suppose I am asking you out on a date." Sherlock nervously smiled. Sherlock was… interested in him? As more than a friend? Awesome. "Uh yeah, I think I'd like that." John grinned, still recovering from a welcome shock. "Great," Sherlock replied, relief obvious in his sigh. "You hungry now?" Sherlock asked and stood up out of his chair. "I could eat," John grinned. "Put on your jumper John, might be chilly."

John unzipped his bag and pulled out an oatmeal jumper, tugging it on then following Sherlock down the stairs. "John and I are going out for a bit, we'll eat." Sherlock shouted to his mom in the kitchen. "Have fun dear, be back around 10, it's a school night." She yelled back.

"Uh Sherlock, I don't have any money with me," John asked, frowning. "My treat." Sherlock responded. "I'll pay you back?" John offered. "Nonsense, I asked you out, it's proper for me to pay." John smiled, Sherlock asked him out. Being ever the gentleman, Sherlock opened the door for John on their way out of the house. John shyly smiled and whispered a thanks. Once outside and walking, the taller looked down at John and smiled. John looked back up at him and asked him "what?" "Nothing, I just enjoy looking at you." Sherlock seemed completely comfortable stating the fact which just made John even fonder. John walked just a bit closer to Sherlock.

The boys reached a large park blanketed in semi-frozen grass. The black sky was inhabited by thousands of stars and a bright moon still on the verge of raising above eye-level. A parking lot was filled with food trucks at the edge of the greenery, which was where Sherlock led John first. Still marveling at the vast open rolling hills and strategically placed trees that he didn't notice Sherlock turned away until the warmth of the other was replaced by a chilly breeze. John turned his head and saw Sherlock a few feet away, beckoning to John who eagerly followed. "There's a great taco truck here, one of my favorites. Do you like tacos?" Sherlock asked, voice full of life. "I like anything digestible." John responded, a hint of humor in his voice, in which Sherlock laughed. His laugh was like bells, whole and pure and beautiful.

John had to stop himself from capturing that laugh with a kiss. Sherlock bought them two trays of tacos and carried the bag around a wrist, the other swaying against his side with every step. He led them to a tree at the top of the hill, where they had a picturesque view of the majority of the park. A few lights were stationed around, but everything else looked natural and content. John was in the middle of a taco when Sherlock asked him how they were. A piece of meat fell from John's mouth and tried to catch it but failed, then grinned shyly at Sherlock who in return giggled, finding it adorable. "Ah, they're delicious, best tacos I ever had." Sherlock smiled at his success in finding acceptable food for a first date.

Once all the tacos teenage boys could stuff in their insatiable stomachs were eaten, John looked up at the twinkling stars. "It's beautiful, Sherlock, really, thank you." Sherlock grinned happily and slid his hand into Johns, whose was resting on the ground. John immediately entwined his fingers, and relishing in the contact, shivered. Sherlock took it that he was cold, and retracted his hand to remove his coat to give to John, but before he could John scooted next to him so that their sides were pressed up against each other. John rested his head on Sherlock's shoulder and grabbed the other boy's hand, playing with his fingers. Sherlock put his other arm around John's shoulders, and the latter melted into the touch.

A welcomed silence endured around them, the park empty but for them and a few chittering animals. John could spend forever in this moment, in the warmth of Sherlock and the cool nature at the top of the hill. It truly was a dream moment for John. Then John thought about what Mycroft had told him, about how Sherlock picked one person after another to focus on. What if this was just a fluke, a phase? Sherlock must have noticed John stiffening because he turned and asked him what's wrong. Smiling at the concern, John replied, "nothing, everything's great." And snuggled into Sherlock more, who welcomed the gesture and rested his head on top of John's. All was good, and John's doubts were neutralized, for the moment anyway.


	10. Chapter 10

After hours of lying together on the carpet of grass in the park, chatting about anything and everything, the boys finally went home. Under the soft glow of streetlamps and quite heavy cloud cover they walked, hand in hand, enjoying the cool breeze and the nighttime wash over them. A comfortable silence waned around their figures. Sherlock unlocked the door to his home, the door slightly creaked when he pushed it open and stepped over the threshold and warm air and soft light emitted from inside the house. Sherlock quietly shut the door once John had followed suit. The soft glow of a TV and indistinct voiced projected from the sitting room.

The teens padded up the stairs in their socks and strolled into Sherlock's bedroom, relief that they had gotten back on time and not questioned about the event settled into John's stomach. John slumped down in the beanbag chair while Sherlock took residence in the office chair, twirling around carelessly. John's doubts returned and fear replaced relief. Sherlock must've noticed the change in atmosphere, for he stopped spinning around and regarded John with curious eyes. "Something wrong?" He asked. John cleared his throat and looked away from Sherlock's penetrating gaze. "Just something, not really important," John spoke quietly. "Please tell me John," Sherlock asked, the unspoken 'you can trust me' hanging in the air. John hoped. He grasped at the floating letters and silently prayed that this would all work out.

"Am I just another one?" John started. "Another what?" Sherlock perked. "Another friend, another person for you to enjoy company then toss away and forget. Am I just a 'phase' you'll grow out of?" It hurt to say these words but John needed to know. "Have you been speaking to Mycroft?" Sherlock asked, standing now. "I may have run into him, but that's not the point, Sherlock. Tell me now, are you going to one day cast me off, because if so I may as well just leave now, save myself the pain,"

Sherlock looked pained himself, eyes drooping ever so slightly. "John, listen to me. You're not like anyone else. Unlike them I came to you, they came to me. I chose you, and I haven't felt this way about someone, since... Since…" Sherlock sputtered. "Victor." John supplied. Sherlock's eyes straightened. "How do you know that name?" He asked, stern. "Your mother may have mentioned it, but don't worry she didn't tell me anything about him, continue." John was surprisingly calm and collected. "Anyway, you're different, even from Victor. I would never leave you, John, I will stay by your side no matter what, I will pick you up when you're down and be your shoulder to cry on and I'll be there to talk, or sit in silence, or watch a movie, anything John. You're not like them, John, you're more important and I hope you feel the same because I don't know what I'd do without you. Don't say get another friend, because you're irreplaceable John."

Sherlock was now rambling in the middle of the room, spluttering, eyes darting in confusion and worry. John stood up, his eyes softened, limbs like jelly. He walked over to Sherlock and rubbed his hands up and down his friend's arms, trying to warm and comfort him. Did Sherlock really feel that way? So helpless without John? Sherlock stopped spluttering when John reached up a hand to cup his cheek, his other hand resting on Sherlock's upper arm. John tilted the taller teens head so they were looking each other in the eye. John's calm blue ocean waters stuck to the stormy grey clouds. "Sherlock, I'd be a wreck without you. Of course, I'm never leaving." John whispered exhaling. Sherlock exhaled and relief flooded his troubled eyes. L John leaned closer to Sherlock, drawn in by the warmth radiating around, wanting more. In response, the other also leaned in.

As their lips met, John moved his arms up around Sherlock's neck and leaned into the contact. Sherlock had one arm around John and the other resting in his honey-coloured hair, softly stroking. After a rivalling make out session, a soft knock broke them apart, slightly panting. Mrs Holmes pushed open the door, and upon seeing John's slightly dishevelled hair, both irregular breathing pattern and the look that passed between their eyes she makes her visit quick. "I brought some cookies, didn't know if you'd be hungry. Get some sleep." She said with a smile and left the room as quickly as she'd come.

John giggled and grabbed a cookie, munching on it slowly. Sherlock slipped into his PJ's while John was busy in the bathroom, then crawled into his bed. John came back in the room and glanced at Sherlock, silently asking if it was okay. Sherlock smiled and pulled back the covers. John slid in gratefully and curled up into Sherlock's arm, snuggling into the soft grey cotton t-shirt. John was wrapped around Sherlock's arm like bark on a branch. Sherlock didn't mind. Thunder rumbled outside, expected, and John, already asleep, squeezed Sherlock's arm in sleep-induced comfort. Sighing, Sherlock turned on his side and wrapped his free arm around John.

Next chapter will have a bit of Mystrade, bit of fluff and stuff, please drop any suggestions and reviews cause they're encouraging and lovely. :)


	11. Chapter 11

Please drop a review/like as it really helps, hope you enjoy this chapter!

Thunder rumbled loudly outside, rain whipped against the window and bursts of lightning lit up the bedroom briefly before fizzling out and leaving the room once again in darkness. John stirred in his sleep and snuggled deeper into the crevice between Sherlock's torso and the soft sheets. It was early morning but Sherlock was awake, lying on his back, listening to the loud rain coming down in sheets and being thrown around by the wind. The booming of thunder soothed his mind rather than troubled it, the natural sounds of an angry storm. The rage didn't slow down, the sun slowly made its way over the horizon behind thick clouds which hid the rays of light wanting to break through. Rain was still falling in buckets and flying like wind around crackling lightning.

John slept a little restlessly, but Sherlock didn't mind it. Since the sun was blocked, the only way to tell time was an alarm clock resting on the desk. Time crept on, Sherlock's assumption that school was canceled was confirmed by the lack of Mrs. Holmes knocking on his door to wake him up at the appropriate time. Around a half hour after school would've started, John stirred awake, moving up to rest his head on Sherlock's shoulder. Sherlock looked down at him thoughtfully and smiled. "Morning," he said in a low voice. John, still half asleep, mumbled a response, "what time is it?" "Doesn't matter, school's cancelled." John was now made aware of the steady rainfall and low rumbling of thunder. He hummed and snuggled closer to Sherlock's warm form.

They lay for another ten minutes, content with listening to the steady breathing of the other, then Sherlock suggested they get some breakfast after he heard he growl of John's stomach. John reluctantly rolled away from Sherlock and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Not bothering to change out of their rumpled clothes or comb their tousled hair. The smell of scrambled eggs and bacon wafted along the kitchen hallway which drew the boys in like a mouse to cheese. "Have a good sleep?" She asked, while flipping a piece of bacon. "Great sleep, yeah." John happily grinned which Sherlock mirrored the expression and resumed his own seat at the table. He seemed completely unfazed despite his lack of sleep.

Mrs. Holmes set out two plates in front of them, then muttered something about going to her room for a bit. Left alone in the kitchen, John looked up to find Sherlock looking at him thoughtfully. John blushed and ate his very nice breakfast. Sherlock slowly made his way through half of the food on his plate, then put it on the counter. John, who had finished a while ago, followed suit. Then they walked into the sitting room, quiet, empty and fairly dark except for the glowing embers in the fireplace. After switching on the light, Sherlock proceeded to drop to his knees in front of the cabinet and rummage through the shelves to find a suitable movie. He selected a couple, 'Jumanji', 'the Hunger Games', and 'A series of unfortunate events.' Why they were all depressing movies Sherlock did not know, but he liked them and that was it.

John, having not seen any of the movies laid out for him, randomly selected 'the hunger games.' He'd heard most about it. John stood in the middle of the room, unsure of where to sit. After Sherlock turned the TV on and put in the disk, he shyly walked up to John and slipped his hands around his waist. John leaned into the touch and Sherlock kissed his head, then Sherlock took John by the hand and led him over to the couch. They sat close, sides brushing, and Sherlock's arm draped on the top of the couch behind John. The opening was just beginning to play when the door handle jiggled and the door burst open. Sherlock shot up, ready to fight but relaxed when two young male figures sauntered in. Splashing rain and rumbling thunder echoed in the house until the door slammed shut behind them and the sound was dimmed to a distant roar.

"Mycroft… wha?" Sherlock stuttered, recovering from shock. Mycroft was panting slightly, trying to act sophisticated despite the rain dripping down his face and soaked clothing. The other was politely removing his shoes. He was a handsome guy, with a leather jacket, deep set of brown eyes, dark hair that swished slightly when his tilted his head. "Brother, this is my… friend… Gregory. He was stuck at Scotland Yard in his office all night because of the storm and I thought it well to bring him here until it passes." Mycroft stated, straightening his back. "There's no need to lie Mycroft. It was very nice of you to bring your 'friend' round." Both John and Greg watched the brothers silently. "Yes well I'm sure your own 'friend' thought your sleeping arrangement quite nice as well." Mycroft countered. "I'd continue bantering if my _boyfriend_ and I didn't have something to get back to." Sherlock sneered and gestured at the TV. "Right." Mycroft grabbed his 'friend's' hand and pulled him into the kitchen.

"Sorry" Sherlock looked down at the floor, embarrassed. "No, no its okay, it's... Fine." John stood up and grabbed both of Sherlock's hands, tugging him onto the couch. Sherlock ended up wrapped around John like a warm blanket and as the movie progressed John sunk deeper and deeper into the others' chest. About halfway in, Mycroft and Greg walked in. "Mind if we join?" Mycroft asked, to which Sherlock grunted in response. Mycroft took it as a 'whatever' and sat down with his partner on the neighboring couch, curling up together in a position not dissimilar to the younger ones.

The movie played along with the steady storm still strong outside, the credits rolled but neither couple wanted to move. It wasn't until a loud crash outside commenced that anything changed. The room splurged into darkness, only faintly lit by the bit of sun getting through thick clouds and occasional strikes of lightning. The soft glow of embers had long since fizzled out. The TV shut off with a 'bleep' and the despite the short amount of time between, Sherlock could already feel the warmth of the room slipping through his fingers.


	12. Chapter 12

"Power outage." Sherlock stated. "Nooooo, really. I hadn't noticed." Mycroft drawled. Greg lightly hit his shoulders while Sherlock scowled. "Well that's that, what now?" Sherlock asked to nobody in particular. "Well considering we don't own a generator, and the storm shows no sign of letting up we should prepare. Sherlock, tend the fire, get the blankets and some things to pass the time, Greg isn't fond of my pastimes and will probably find civil activities more entertaining. I'll get candles and flashlights." Mycroft stated and before anyone could respond the young adult sprang up and led a confused Lestrade out of the room.

"I would've thought Mycroft would want to, I don't know, hang out with Greg alone. He does seem to be a more independent person, why does he want to play games?" John asked, still curled into Sherlock's shoulder. "It is possible that he wants to make a good impression, on you and his… friend… by interacting and entertaining normal activities." Sherlock responded and sat up. "We better get those blankets, it'll start to get cold soon." "Right," John responded and stood up, pulling Sherlock up after him by his hands. "I was comfortable" Sherlock grumbled but gave in anyway.

Sherlock threw in a few logs to feed the fire, poked it a few times and left it. He kissed John's head as he passed him on the way out of the room. Sherlock led the way into a small storage space under the stairs. John walked forward in the darkness and felt a tickling on his shoulder. A spider? John jumped and swiped at his shoulder, although a tingling feeling remained. Meanwhile, his boyfriend was laughing his head off behind him. "It's a light switch string," he managed while laughing. "Oh bugger off." John couldn't help but chuckle at himself. The closet was rather tight, and when the door closed what little natural light they had diminished. John's breath hitched when he felt the other's warmth breath on his neck. Sherlock's arms slid around his waist which shot electricity through John.

John turned around, keeping Sherlock's arms around him and wrapped his own around the other's neck. Sherlock leaned down to kiss him and John responded enthusiastically, slow and sweet in the darkness of the closet. After a minute, two people bounded down the stairs, sending dust falling on John and Sherlock's hair. The taller pulled back and smiled, then moved away to grab a couple of blankets from memory. John couldn't see, but Sherlock seemed to be opening a chest and taking a couple of boxes that rattled. Sherlock swept across the small closet, collecting things before balancing it all on one arm and opening the door. Emitting a soft glow in the closet.

John followed Sherlock out and back into the sitting room. Sherlock set his stuff down in a heap, what seemed like monopoly, clue and a deck of cards were encompassed in two large blankets. Mycroft and Greg were already seated on the couch, a low table set up in front of them with two large white candles emitting a soft glow and an aroma of sweet smoke. "I guess that means John and I will sit on the floor then." Sherlock directed a glare at Mycroft, who gazed back blankly and didn't respond. "Oh that's fine, really, I don't mind." Mycroft wasn't the only one who wanted to make a good impression. Sherlock smiled and walked up to John, brushing the dust out of the honey-colored hair. John returned the favor, tutting as his fingers got caught in thick curls.

John was trapped by Sherlock's gaze until his brother cleared his throat, letting them know they weren't alone. John sheepishly dropped his hand and sat opposite Greg. Sherlock sighed and threw a blanket at Mycroft who caught it with grace and unfolded it to wrap it around himself and Gregory. Sherlock set out monopoly and draped the other blanket across his and John's lap.

The next few hours went by quickly, consisting of comfortable small talk, laughing and hand holding whenever the opportunity arose. Mostly though Sherlock had little arguments with his brother about how they should include tax on property's and how income tax is unfair and which properties each shouldn't have bought and why. John and Greg shared more than one respective confused gaze while their boyfriends bickered. The candles burned low and the fire soon fizzled to burning embers, everyone too lazy and comfortable to get up and tend to it. Mrs. Holmes came in a few times to set out snacks, sodas and a pizza, each time smiling at her sons and their chosen partners. She couldn't explain the joy in her heart at her boys, happy and interacting with each other, despite the harmless arguments.

Slowly but surely the sun set behind the thick clouds and night came along with a cold temperature. All that was left were pizza crumbs and empty soda cans. The pairs were sitting closer together then when started due to the now freezing atmosphere. When Mycroft won yet another game of war, they decided to retire to bed. No longer did it take for John and Sherlock to put the games in a neat stack and put out the fire than for Greg to kiss Mycroft, who blushed and glanced his brother. He wasn't used to PDA, especially in front of his brother. Sherlock chuckled and briskly kissed John before taking his hand and dragging him up the stairs. Mycroft smiled and returned his attention to the only person in the room.

When John shut Sherlock's door behind him, he shivered, cold at the lack of blanket and body heat. Noticing, Sherlock wrapped his arms around him and pulled him under the covers. John immediately snuggled so he was half under Sherlock, face buried in his chest. He could smell laundry detergent and Sherlock's unique indescribable scent. Lulled by Sherlock's soft breathing on top of him and the still steady rumble of thunder and rain John fell asleep content.


	13. Chapter 13

Sorry for taking a while, working on another story called 'Manipulation by Mycroft' where Mycroft puts the gang on an island to try and get John and Sherlock together while completing tasks. Anyway please leave a review so I know what to work on! 3

The next few weeks went by, and noticeable improvements were made. John's marks went up (thanks to Sherlock's private tutoring sessions) and he was gaining popularity. People started talking to him more, inviting him to events and eventually he was hit on more than any of the straight guys at London's 5th. Sherlock's wounds healed and their relationship was steady and perfect. John kept up his work, at reasonable hours after school, then spent the rest of the day with Sherlock.

John found himself enjoying the spotlight in school, minus the attention from the girls. He constantly reminded them that he was taken but they just said that was hot, or the way they said it- 'hawwwt.' John still sat with Sherlock in the classes they had together and hung out with him at lunch, but the other classes he goofed off with his 'posse.' Sherlock was getting worried that he'd lose John to the popular crowd, because he was not popular nor did he have a lot of friends.

One Friday night up in Sherlock's room John was sprawled on his boyfriend's bed doing homework. Sherlock was typing on his laptop at his desk when John broke the comfortable silence. "So I was invited to this party tonight and was thinking of going." Sherlock stopped typing and spun to face John. "Okay," he said. "Do you want to come with me?" John asked. Sherlock spun back to his desk. "Please, John. These social gatherings are a waste of time. Nobody wants me around anyway." Sherlock resumed typing. "I want you around," John said and sat up, "Plus we'd only stay for a bit. It's Friday and we haven't gone out in a while. Pleease come." John got on his knees and looked up at Sherlock. "Fine. One hour only." Sherlock gave in. "Yess, thank you!" John bounced up and gave Sherlock a long kiss. "You owe me though," Sherlock smirked.

John shrugged on his jacket and said "Alright, whatdya want?" Sherlock got up and put on his own jacket. "I don't know, when I think of something I'll let you know." John nodded and went to Sherlock's door. "Are we going now? Or-" Sherlock puzzled. "Not to the party yet, follow me." John led the way out the front door and heard Sherlock call to his mom that they'd be out for a bit. John's breath fogged in the cool evening, the last of the sun slipping away. John held Sherlock's hand and let him into the outskirts of the city, into a dimly lit street and finally a quaint little café. It was completely devoid of people except for a young woman behind the counter. She had short black hair with purple streaks, a lean body and an apron with a yellow logo. She had a bright face for someone working in a corner café.

Two tables and four white chairs occupied the small space and a wooden counter behind. "What's this?" Sherlock asked. "This, is the best hot chocolate you will ever taste." John said and smiled. Then he walked up to the counter and asked for two hot chocolate xs." "Xs?" Sherlock inquired. "Secret menu item," John explained as the girl nodded and filled two cups with a smooth liquid, mounted it with whipped cream, sprinkled some cinnamon and mini chocolate chips and a dash of maple syrup. John handed her cash with a generous tip and took the cups, thanking her and moving to sit at one of the tables.

"Maple syrup?" Sherlock asked. "Very sweet, and tasty with the whipped cream too." John answered, licking a bit of the whipped cream. Sherlock shrugged and did the same, followed by a sip of the rich chocolatey liquid. "Wow, John, this is really good, how'd you find out about it?" "My boss at work knows all the restaurant secrets around here." John sipped again. Sherlock took another sip and came up with whipped cream on his upper lip. John giggled and gestured to it. Embarrassed, Sherlock licked it then wiped with a napkin. He looked down at his lap. "Don't laugh at me John," he tried to be stern but a smile broke out instead. John pouted, "but it was so cute." Sherlock smiled bigger. "Thank you John," Sherlock said as he downed a bit more, taking a large chunk of the whipped cream with it. "Anytime, really, I love this, spending time with just you. We don't have to go to the party, we can just stay in if you want. I'll stay with you, you're more important." John took Sherlock's hands on the table.

"No, I said we'll go for an hour, let's go." Sherlock said. "Alright, but you're not leaving my side, 'kay?" John grinned. Sherlock nodded and helped John into his jacket before putting his own on. John said a last thanks and goodbye to the girl before stepping out into the cold. Shame she has to work all alone on a Friday night, John thought. Maybe they'd make a tradition of it, taking Sherlock to try every item on the menu, one every Friday night. He smiled at the idea.

Walking under streetlights out of the city and into suburbs, John almost decided to ditch the whole party and just go walking around with Sherlock but the house came into view and it was too late. Outside of the brick house was typical, and the only hint that a party was commencing inside was the blaring music coming from within. John dragged Sherlock in by the hand, not bothering to knock. As soon as the door flew open the music became very loud and much clearer. To the left, a living room sparkled with different colored lights and multiple foldable tables held bowls of popcorn, munchies and various drinks, including beer.

"Watson! You made it!" A guy named Derek clapped John on the back. John, in turn bro-hugged the guy and walked with him to greet some of the others. He checked back every few steps to make sure Sherlock was following him. A huddle of guys and a few girls who were already drunk greeted John with hugs and claps, high fives and handshakes. A girl tried to throw herself on John but he sidestepped her and awkwardly chuckled. He gently took Sherlock's arm and led him forward, introducing him to the group. The girls, and some of the guys, whistled and welcomed him with handshakes and whoops. "Nice skin, cool hair, you chose wisely Watson," One of the guys looked Sherlock up and down, slurring his words a bit. "I know I did," John smiled at Sherlock.

Although Sherlock was glad John wasn't embarrassed to be with him, and that the group accepted him, he didn't necessarily feel comfortable around these drunk jocks and cheerleaders. "I'm gonna go grab some snacks, I'll catch up with you guys in a bit," John took Sherlock's hand and dragged him into the main room. "Hungry?" John asked as he picked up a pretzel and munched on it. Sherlock shook his head, and John noticed something was wrong. Over the blare of the music and the sweaty dancing bodies in the room John struggled to talk to Sherlock. "You alright?" he asked. Sherlock nodded but his eyes weren't glowing and he wasn't smiling very enthusiastically. John frowned, then smiled as the song changed into a slow song. He pulled Sherlock by the waist close to him and rested his head on his shoulder. "This better?" He asked. In response Sherlock sighed, kissed John's ear and hugged him, swaying in time with the music. "Better." Sherlock smiled. "Good," John said. When the song finished a few minutes later, Sherlock was in a considerably better mood. "I'll get us some punch," Sherlock offered to which John nodded enthusiastically. Content, Sherlock wandered over to the drink table and took two cups off the stack. He filled them and took a sip, it was spiked. He left the cups on the table and settled for two sodas instead. He weaved through the crowd to get to John but was met with a disturbing surprise.

One of the cheerleaders from before was kissing John. John was still and stiff, unresponsive. Sherlock couldn't fathom this though, as he was fighting a pain in his heart and a rolling in his stomach. People were whistling and cheering and she kept attacking him. Sherlock wanted to move, to throw her off his guy, to get the hell out of there, anything but his legs would not move. After a minute of slow motion action, John seemed to startle back to reality. He shoved her off him and seemed dazed. People stopped cheering and stood quiet, waiting to see what John would do. "Sorry, I… uh… I'm taken, I… sorry." John stammered then shook his head. "I'm with someone and I'm not interested in girls." Sherlock let a sigh release but it didn't really ease him.

John turned and saw Sherlock standing there shocked. John strode up to him and pulled him in for a strong kiss before pulling back and taking Sherlock's hand. "I'm with Sherlock and I'm happy." John stated. Sherlock smiled and blushed as people cheered and whistled for them. Not the girl, but for him. And John. For him and John. The girl, wearing a miniskirt and crop top looked a bit taken aback. She bit her lip and walked up to John, who tensed. "I'm sorry. No hard feelings?" She offered her hand. John shook it and nodded, then turned away and dragged Sherlock out of the house. Sherlock didn't know whether he was glad or not that John forgave the animal so quickly. "Sorry," John said once the house was fading behind them in the street. "Next time don't leave my side, or you know, you could pull her off me. I'm yours after all, you just gonna let people climb over me?" John chuckled and winked but Sherlock was still a bit fazed.

"You chose me over her." Sherlock stated, more for self-reassurance. "Of course I did. She didn't save my life, she didn't offer to be my only friend, she didn't ask me out, she didn't invite me over or ask about my story. I'd choose you over anyone Sherlock." John kissed his cheek and Sherlock couldn't help but smile. "I'm glad I chose you John." Sherlock said. And he meant it. John was the best thing that happened to him. Although Sherlock had a decent life, safe, warm and filled with love, nothing compared his happiness pre-John to when he was with John. "I'm glad you chose me too." John leaned into Sherlock and smiled.


	14. Chapter 14

Over the next week, John kept his job, grades and relationship steady. Sherlock feels that he's been spending a bit more time at school with the popular crowd, but he seems happy and Sherlock gets more time with his boyfriend than the usual couple. So he figures it's okay. Friday comes along and John wants to take Sherlock back to the café for another taste of their menu. At work that afternoon he asks Angelo for some good restaurant suggestions- John wants to take Sherlock and his family out for a nice dinner to show his appreciation. He's been saving up his money, not spending it at all in fact. He hides it in his old 'space' In a box as to not raise suspicion from Sherlock, who recently has taken interest in reading people from their body language and other details.

Angelo invites John into his little office in the back of the kitchen- Angelo's quiet escape, or where he can crash after a late night. "John, m'boy. How can I help you?" Angelo chirps. "Yes, um, I was wondering if you have any suggestions for good restaurants nearby, not too posh but not too casual, like a nice steak, or a roast chicken or something." John asks. "What's the special occasion?" Angelo smiles brightly. "Er, I wanted to take my date and his family, they've been housing me for a bit and I want to show my appreciation. Any ideas?" John shyly explains. Angelo squints his eyes and his face breaks out in a mischievous smile. John isn't sure whether to be creeped out or excited. Angelo breaks out of his reverie and resumes his happy posture. "Of course, you have to try the Chicken parmesan and pasta down at ' _doppia faccia'_ across from the theatre. It's absoltely fantastic." John thinks for a moment, then remembers the deep purple sign etched with gold down just a few streets from here. "Great! Thanks boss." John turns to leave. "Call me Angelo, boy. We've known eachother too long to just be coworkers. Goodbye son, see you Monday." Angelo grins.

John nods, not sure if he feels comfortable with the way Angelo adresses him. Angelo's been very nice, and hasn't given John a reason not to trust him, but he doesnt know. Something just, he doesnt know. John leaves the cool room into a bustling hot kitchen. Frantic chefs run all over the place carrying trays of uncooked meat, boiling saucepans and countless other ingrediants. John weaves in and out of them and out the side door of the kitchen. A blast of cool wind hits John as he steps out of the kitchen, a welcome gust from the hot stuffy place he was previous. Fall was turning to winter, and the trees were shedding their leaves. John enjoyed the quiet walk back to Sherlock's house with his paycheck in his pocket (actually it was cash, John had asked for cash so he could take Sherlock to the cafe tonight.) John walked in the unlocked door, wiped and took off his shoes and climbed the stairs and into Sherlock's room. At first he didnt see Sherlock until he felt arms wrap around him from behind. Sherlock had heard John come in and stood behind the door to suprise him. "Whats this for?" John smiled, leaning back into Sherlock's warm embrace. "I wanted a hug." Sherlock says into John's hair.

"Anytime you want," John turns around and hugs Sherlock around the neck. Sherlock hums, and releases John, content for the moment. "Hey Sherlock, I was thinking of doing something tonight, you know, Friday and all." John started. "If your suggesting another party, I'll have to object my vote after last time, sorry." Sherlock says, not looking sorry but a little hurt? Jealous? Anxious? John shakes his head and laughs. "No, not a party. I was thinking we'd go grab something from that cafe with the hot chocolate." Sherlock immediatly smiles and nods, "Yes that sounds very good. Perhaps we could head out after a movie? My mom just picked up 'The Da Vinci Code.' It's mystery and crime and thrilling."

John grins. "Sounds great. Say, you're getting really into crime and mystery stuff." Sherlock shys a bit. "Its interesting, and useful and I think i might be serious about it." Sherlock says a bit defensivly. John steps close to him and places a hand on his arm. "Hey, I'm all for it, if it's what you want. Crime and deductions beats a boring accountant or something like that." Sherlock sighs in relief. "Thanks John, for being so supportive. John smiles again and responds slyly, "Plus its kinda sexy. My boyfriends a detective." Sherlock blushes and stammers, "well I'm not yet, I dont even know if I'll be good, and-" John interupts him. "From what I know about you, you will be good at anything you want to be. You're amazing that way." John brushes his lips over Sherlocks. "I will support you with anything that will make you happy, and will help you in any way I can." John says, eyelashes fluttering. "You make me happy," Sherlock says, stroking John's cheek with his hand.

"Guess I'm not leaving anytime soon. Shame, that girl was pretty cute," John says as sarcastic as he can muster. Sherlock's heart rate picks up, "You... you... thought-" Sherlock starts and John chuckles. "No you git, that was _sarcasm_. But you're cute when your jealous. Noted. Anyway I want you and only you." Sherlock sighs in relief. "Good. That's good." He replies and takes John's hand. "So how bout that movie now?"

John leans in and presses a soft kiss to Sherlock's lips. "Sounds like a fantastic idea." Sherlock leads John down into the living room and, after pressing play on the TV, pulls John onto the sofa with him.

Please leave a review! Story will progress with more of a plot line continuing on. Hope you enjoyed ;)


	15. Chapter 15

After the movie (Sherlock had managed to deduce a few things), the boys were reluctant to get up. Tangled and warm they were content, but eventually John pulled Sherlock up to his feet and out the door. Snow was beginning to fall, and it really was beautiful with the sun setting in the background. They walked in silence to the café, and opened the jingling door to a small breeze of warm wind from inside. Instead of the pretty girl behind the counter, a middle aged Asian man was watching cookies baking while humming to himself. At the sound of the door he jumped a bit and greeted them with an overly bright smile. "Hello! Welcome! What can I get you?" He chirped, almost literally jumping.

"Er, two apple cider's and two… biscuits. To go, please." John asked, sensing the uneasy aura this man gave off. "Of course," he smiled and fixed their order. Looking around a bit, Sherlock noticed that the place had been recently cleaned, down to the floors being scrubbed. Odd. John left a bill on the counter and took the small paper bag and one of the small cups. Sherlock took the other and together they walked out, the door jingling behind them. "Was it just me or did something seem off?" John asked. "I sensed it too, I wonder where that girl went, she seemed nice." Sherlock responded. "yeah" John responded and took a sip of his sweet drink. "Mm, this is good." The warm liquid seeped down his throat, warming John up from the inside in the chilly air.

Sherlock mirrored him and sighed in content. They found a small pavilion with few other people and many open tables, lit up from the various street lights, shops and a bright moon. John laid out their treats and for a while neither talked, just respectively enjoyed the brisk night. "So, now that my grades are back up and stuff coach asked me to join the football team again." John said sort of quietly. "Oh… that's great! I mean you deserve it," Sherlock seemed lost for words. "I think it'll be fun," John said, "you could come watch me, if you want of course, and I might get a scholarship, and, yeah" John continued. Sherlock smiled but it didn't reach his eyes. "Hey, if you're not okay with this, then I won't do it," John looked confused.

"No, no you should do it, it's a great opportunity. I support you fully, but we'll still hang out right? I mean with school, and work, and football I-" Sherlock started but John hushed him. "Of course we'll hang out. I wouldn't give up time with you for the largest scholarship in the world. Plus its only Tuesday and Thursday after school, I'll work out a schedule with my boss and we'll be all set." John assured Sherlock, who grinned and took another sip of his drink.

"It's getting late, we should head back." Sherlock suggested, to which John nodded and scooped up their garbage. John tossed it and started walking with Sherlock back to his house. John wanted to take them out for dinner the next night, but he didn't know if he should tell Sherlock yet, or how to bring up the subject or anything.

In the warmth and comfort of Sherlock's bedroom, John was playing Minecraft on Sherlock's computer while the other was reading a book on his bed. "This game is so cool! I'm playing survival, but look how much stuff I have already. This map is the best!" John praised while Sherlock hummed, half listening. "So Sherlock, is your family going to be home tomorrow?" John asked, eyes still glued on the screen. Sherlock perked up, curious. "Yes, may I ask why?" John paused the game and spun in the chair to meet Sherlock's inquisitive gaze. "Well, over the past while you guys have done so much for me, more than I could ever repay, so as a small token of appreciation I'd like to take you all out for dinner." John shied, a little embarrassed. "John, we're happy to help. You don't need to repay anything." Sherlock assured him, stunned.

"I'd like to, please? It will make me feel better about this situation, less guilty. Please, let me do this." John pleaded. "I suppose it wouldn't do any harm. I'll talk to my parents, and Mycroft I guess." Sherlock sighed. "Oh and tell Mycroft to invite that Greg guy, he seems more relaxed when he's around." John added. Sherlock nodded and lay back down in his bed. "In the morning." After Sherlock finished his chapter, he set his book down and turned off his bedside lamp. Then he turned on his side and closed his eyes, lulled to sleep by the clicking of computer keys as John played the game.

John lost track of time. By the time he tore his eyes away from the screen the clock read 2:00am. The room spun in little squares and cubes, but John managed to save his progress and flip the lid down. Then he stumbled over to their shared bed and fell asleep, one leg dangling over the side of the bed, one arm tucked behind his head.

When John awoke the next morning, sun was beaming through the window and Sherlock was nowhere in sight. John had a slight headache, and winced at the natural light flowing into his eyes. He rolled onto the floor, and stood up. He stretched a bit and, still in his PJ's, went down the stairs, rubbing his eyes. The house seemed quiet, John couldn't hear the TV, or the stove, or voices, or anything really. All was silent, until a toilet flushed from the downstairs bathroom and Sherlock stepped out. Sherlock was already dressed and poised, and grinned at the disheveled John.

"My parents and brother are out, though I caught them before they left. Said you don't need to do anything for them, but eventually said dinner sounds lovely. Mycroft'll bring Greg 'round and we're all yours." Sherlock said in one breath. John grinned lopsidedly. "Great, so whatd'ya wanna do 'till then?" John replied, yawning. "I have a PlayStation, you wanna play? I got the new Call of Duty." Sherlock asked. "Sure, although you'll have to teach me how to play." John replied grinning.

An hour later, Sherlock and John were sprawled on opposite couches. The end stats of the first few games were ghastly for John, but he quickly learned after that. Aim improved, strategy defined. The fourth survival round started, and John was ready. He ended up killing more people than Sherlock. "You're getting good," Sherlock said after the seventh wave was cleared. "Thanks, you know, maybe one day I'll join the army," John said, half to himself. Sherlock sat up. "The army? Wha- what… why?" He asked. John winced a little. "I don't know, defending the country, doing my duty, don't worry it's just a thought. Not planning anything anytime soon. I want to go to med school but I don't have the money for it. Oh well, I'll find a way." John didn't talk the rest of the game.

Hours went by filled with junk food, lazing around, tossing a ball, playing video games, and soon enough Mrs. And Mr. Holmes walked through the front door. It was five, ready to leave soon. John asked them to meet him at _Doppia faccia_ in forty minutes. "Are you sure John? Really we love having you, and-" But John cut her off. "I'm positive, I've been saving. Plus it's the least I can do. I'll see you guys soon." John left before anyone could get another word in.

Breathing in the air of London, fresh and cool, John made his way into the city. He went to his hole and gathered the money, and changed into jeans (slightly worn) and a button down he just bought. Then he went into a public washroom nearby and washed his hair, dried off and made his way towards the elegant building. He entered and a quite buff man with tattoos protruding from under his shirt were visible. "Hello, and welcome. Are you expecting others?" The man asked, his moustache twitching. It sounded slightly rehearsed and fake but John didn't take it to care. "Yes, um, five others." John said.

"Very well. Right this way," The man started walking down an aisle of long tables. "Say, you must be John Watson, eh?" He asked. John opened his mouth, and for a moment nothing came out. "Relax boy, Angelo told me you might be coming around. Stalky blonde boy with good manners. You fit. Names Vinci, nice to meet you." Vinci stuck out his hand, suddenly all chirpy. John shook his hand, "Nice to meet you, sir." John awkwardly smiled. "Call me Vinci, I'll send yo' people 'round when they get here. 'till then, anything I can get you?" Vinci was smiling, kind of creepily now. "Um, No thank you, I'll wait. Thanks." John smiled again before resting his elbows on the table. Vinci nodded and scurried off, leaving John to question who this guy really was. A waiter? A door greeter? Manager? Who would Angelo speak to that would look for him specifically.

John dismissed the thoughts as the bell on the door jingled, and his party walked in.


	16. Chapter 16

Mycroft noticed John first, and beckoned to the others to follow him as he walked towards John. Sherlock immediately sat down next to John, in the middle. Greg took the seat opposite John, and Mycroft sat down next to him, leaving the two inside seats for the older couple.

"Well this is a nice place, how did you find it John?" Mrs. Holmes asked, picking up and inspecting the thin menu.

"My boss told me about it, do you like it?" John responded, a little shy.

"Oh it's lovely John, and again thank you, you really didn't have to. I'm glad my boy's found such a gentleman." Mrs. Holmes gushed. Sherlock blushed and moved his hand to cover John's underneath the table. John smiled and squeezed Sherlock's hand, picking up the menu with his other.  
"Please, eat anything you want, I have more than enough to pay, and I want you to enjoy anything."

"Thank you dear," Mrs. Holmes said, and the others looked up and nodded, but John noted that everything they ordered was on the slightly cheaper side of the menu. John got the chicken parmesan, as recommended by Angelo, and the Vinci guy brought them complimentary fresh buns. Even after their meals were served, John saw Vinci looking at their table, he was always in sight and whenever John caught his eye the man just smiled and held two thumbs up.

While happily eating, Mycroft and Greg talked quietly, as did Sherlock's parents. John turned to Sherlock, who was picking at a baked potato. "Am I doing all right?" He asked, faint worry strained his voice.

"Relax, you're doing great." Sherlock reassured John, giving his leg a squeeze. The rest of the dinner went by pretty quickly, with easy chatter and laughter and stories of a younger Sherlock and Mycroft, which Greg and John particularly enjoyed.

"One time! One time Sherlock..." Mrs. Holmes snickered before continuing, "One time when he was about six, he cut off half his hair, with safety scissors mind you, to see how long it would take to grow the length of the other side. My, we had to take him to the hairdresser and even it out, and clean it up. That was a right mess on the floor. He looked so funny, I have a picture at home!" She was giggling, as was John. Sherlock was bright red.

"It was an experiment, I didn't know that hair continuously grows. No one told me." Sherlock said quietly. "Awe, but it sounds so cuteee," John sarcastically said into his ear. Sherlock scoffed. "Please John, cuteness is a…" He was interrupted by a shutter of a camera click. Vinci popped out of nowhere and gave a big smile.

"Just a picture to go on our wall of customers. Sorry if it took you by surprise, we like it to be authentic." Vinci chirped, and slinked off with one last look at John. Everyone was mildly stunned, but shrugged it off and continued their meal. Once everyone was finished, a waiter came around and cleared the plates. "Any desserts?" The Italian man asked. John looked around the table, questioning with his eyes. When he received no affirmation, he turned back toward the waiter. "No thank you, just the bill please." John said, and the waiter departed after a short bow.

Not long after, the folded leather bill arrived. John flipped it open and inwardly sighed. It wasn't so bad though, and John felt good. John slipped enough cash, plus a generous tip for good measure and stood up.

"Um, I hope you all had a good meal," John said. "It was lovely, thank you very much John." Mrs. Holmes said, Greg nodded and Mycroft said "Yes, thank you John." Mr. Holmes smiled and shook John's hand. The party filed out of the restaurant, leaving behind the bright lights to a dark, chilly evening, a full moon and a sky full of stars. Sherlock's parents headed towards the parking lot, followed by Mycroft hand in hand with Greg. John stood at the entrance, staring at the sky, breath fogging.

"You coming?" Sherlock asked. John broke out of his trance and turned to an expecting Sherlock. "Oh, yeah, sure." John took his boyfriends hand and headed to the car.

The next morning, Sunday, John woke up with dread. Sherlock was dozing beside him, and John slid out, trying not to wake him. John scurried over to his school bag and unzipped it, pulling out binders and writing utensils, all while muttering curse words. The sun was just peaking over the horizon, John plucked a pencil and his science binder from the now mess on the floor. He scrambled over to Sherlock's computer and turned it on, trying to set up a work station.

The logo spun and moved in the way it does when starting up, John rubbed the sleep from his eyes and turned his notebook to an empty page. Typing into the search engine about certain elements, their properties and such frantically, John didn't realize Sherlock had got up and moved to behind John's shoulder. John jumped when Sherlock touched his shoulder, spinning around and sighing when he realized who it was.

"Oh, hey." John smiled before turning back and continued to write. "What's wrong?" Sherlock asked. John breathed, "I forgot we have that science project due tomorrow, I haven't even started." John put his head in his hands. "Are you done?" He added. Sherlock nodded, "I worked on it when you were at football."

John nodded and sighed, Sherlock started rubbing his shoulders. "It's alright, let's grab some breakfast then I'll help you. Don't worry, you'll get it done."

John relaxed a bit and stood up. "You're the best," he said. Sherlock smiled a little and gestured toward the door. "C'mon, let's get some food."

John walked downstairs to a sleeping house, silent except for the pots and pans Sherlock was clanging together trying to get them out of the cupboard. John sat at the table while Sherlock cooked up eggs and toast. John rushed to eat, and impatiently waited for Sherlock to finish, who seemed to be taking longer on purpose. As soon as he finished John grabbed his plate, threw it in the sink and rushed upstairs. Sherlock caught up to him and said "Every hour, you'll take at least a ten minute break. With the two of us working we should be finished in a couple hours. Relax," John was stressing, and his head started to hurt.

"No, I can't relax, if I fail then Mr. T will call my dad but I haven't been home and he hasn't tried to find me and I'm going to fail high school and not go to university and be a homeless guy and die of some disease and-" John was talking so quickly, frantically waving his hands in paranoia. Sherlock interrupted him, loudly yelling "John!"

John froze. Sherlock, upon realizing the rest of the house was still asleep, lowered his voice. "John I know you're stressed and worried, but panicking won't do any good. Now breathe, and we'll finish this in no time." Sherlock slowly wrapped his arms around John and rubbed his back in a soothing gesture. John went sort-of limp, leaning heavily against the taller guy. A few minutes later John exhaled loudly and said "Okay, let's do this."

Sherlock let go and pulled the beanbag chair over to beside the desk. John plopped down in it while the other sat in the office chair. "Take your already made notes and sort them according to the designated categories, then write the paragraphs corresponding to each element. I will conduct further research for the one's you have not yet looked up."

John smiled and silently took the papers.


	17. Chapter 17

Sorry this update took so long,

A few hours later John had a five-page formal write-up on the characteristics of different elements. He sat back with a sigh of relief in the beanbag chair. Though John seemed exhausted and overworked from working 4 hours straight, Sherlock seemed totally unfazed. "Thank you so much, geez what would I do without you."

"No problem, I didn't have anything to do anyway. Now what?" Sherlock responded gleefully.

"I dunno, oh wanna play multiplayer Minecraft! You gotta see what I built." John perked, standing up then realizing his legs were asleep flopped back down.

Sherlock chuckled. "Yeah alright." He said and pulled out a portable laptop. John took it, opened up the game flopped onto Sherlock's bed while the other pulled up the tab on his monitor.

Tuesday brought heavy rain. Thick clouds blocked out most of the sunlight, not that one could see much through the thick sheets pouring down.

John woke up to the steady white noise to see Sherlock puttering about getting ready for school. John groaned. Sherlock smirked.

"I got all your things ready, change your clothes and we gotta go. I let you sleep in."

John sat up, looked outside, groaned, and heaved himself to a standing position. He dressed and took a cab to the large school. Getting drenched on their way in, the morning had a very uncomfortable feel to it. Sticky and wet and tired.

"Pop quiz!" Mrs Pinord yelled as she walked into the classroom. John was already done with today. "Separate your desks, get out only a pencil, calculator and eraser."

John reluctantly did so but Sherlock squeezed his hand before separating which gave John enough energy to recall the lesson Sherlock reviewed with him the previous night and power through the quiz. 'Not half bad' John thought as he handed his paper to the teacher. He was even one of the first ones done, after Sherlock of course.

Science was better, now that John got his marks up and handed in homework on time Mr T has come to respect John. And with Sherlock as a lab partner, they always got experiments accurate and approved.

"John can I speak to you a moment?" the teacher inquired at the end of class. John gave his boyfriend a look, but he just shrugged. John nodded, and Sherlock left the classroom with a last glance. Getting used to their silent conversations, John collected himself and approached the teacher's desk. "John you seem to be doing better in class, participation and social wise, you seem happier, fuller, I understand you've rejoined the football team and have entered a new relationship."

John nodded, a bit uncomfortable and not quite understanding where this is going.

"I'm glad, John. Was something going on that I should have been worried about?"

John replied, "No, sir, I just didn't have anyone to rely on at the time, hadn't had a real friend, but I'm good now. Really."

Mr T hummed and reluctantly nodded. "Alright, you may go."

John quickly gathered his things and left the science room, which felt like it was closing in on him. Off to English, John remembered that Sherlock wasn't in this class with him. This put a damper on his mood big time. No one to laugh with, share answers, talk to, hold hands under the table with, and rely on to explain things. To make things worse, the bullies were in this class.

Bummed, John walked into the English room, no windows were here but the faint sound of gushing water from outside still remained.

"Alright everyone, today we're doing dramatic readings of Macbeth in groups." She walked to the back of the room and started sorting people. "John, you can come over here and work with these boys. David go and work with Peyton and Jacob in the hall." She continued to call people but John's heart was beating too loudly to hear her. You can already guess who.

"Hey, Watson! Come join us here. In the corner, bring a chair." An act. The teacher bought it, smiled at the boys, then John and went back to her desk. John felt like crying but dragged a chair over anyway. Hey, hey John, John hey, guess what." One boy taunted him.

"Leave me alone James. I already apologized for what happened with Sherlock, what do you want from me." John's voice was shaky but he held eye contact.

James stood up and slowly, while crouching down into John's personal space, said "Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more. It is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing."

The teacher clapped and praised him, "Jim that was fantastic! John, why don't you try the next part?"

To say it nicely, English was horrific, filled with snide comments from vile people getting away with whatever they want.

Finally, it was lunch. Finally. John met Sherlock at their usual spot, the bench right outside the front door, protected by a large overhang. The rain was still coming down hard but it suited John's mood so he didn't mind. Sherlock immediately noticed something was wrong.

"John? What's wrong? What happened?" He said but John just hung his head, forehead leaning against Sherlock's chest. Sherlock placed a hand on the back of John's head and the other rubbing his back protectively after guessing what happened. "People are jerks, John. I'm sorry."

John pulled away and sat down on the bench, bringing his knees up to his chin. Sherlock sat next to him and sat silently with his arm around his friend, in silent understanding and comfort.

Nearing the end of lunch, John finally spoke. "I don't want to go to football after school."

The statement surprised Sherlock but he all the same tightened his grip and said "Okay. Do you think you'll be fine for history?"

John nodded sullenly and stood up, nodded again for good measure and went back into the school, leaving a worried Sherlock sitting on a bench, arm suspended in mid-air, surrounded by the sounds of rain.


	18. Chapter 18

At the end of school, Sherlock couldn't find John. After checking all the bathrooms, hallways and backyard he gave up, assuming John had left already. When he arrived home though, John wasn't there, nor did Sherlock see any evidence that John had been there recently. Rain was still pouring down in buckets, thunder crashed and a bolt of lightning cut across the sky.

His mum wouldn't let him go out to look. 'Too dangerous' apparently. Drivers will be blinded and slipping, hypothermia, blah blah blah. Stupid, Sherlock thought. By nightfall Sherlock was ready to sneak out. His heart pounded loudly in his chest, reaching out to John, wanting him close. Tears prickled the back of his eyes. Sherlock jumped off his bed and grabbed a sweater from his closet.

As soon as he opened the window though, someone knocked at his door. Not just someone. Him. Sherlock didn't even bother closing the window before rushing to open the door. John looked awful, cold: shivering, sad: faint tear tracks, tired: soaking wet, hair mussed, corners of mouth turned down.

They stood there for a moment before Sherlock pulled John gently in by the hand. John let himself be led into the room. Sherlock disappeared for a moment before returning with a fluffy towel. He wrapped the softness around John's shoulders and hugged him, rubbing his hands to try and warm up John.

John shuddered and tucked his arms in front of his chest, leaning closer to the warmth emanating from Sherlock.

Once John was warmed up enough to move, Sherlock shuffled through his drawers and tossed him a cotton shirt. Without hesitation, John peeled his wet, sticky shirt over his head and tossed it to the side.

Sherlock couldn't help staring at the strong 6-pack, muscular shoulders yet overall thin form. John smirked and purposely took a bit longer, and stretched a bit more than necessary slipping on the dry cloth.

"Wow." Sherlock could only say.

"You like?" John asked, still shivering a little.

Sherlock broke out of his trance and softened his smile, "How could I not like anything about you."

John smiled so softly it looked like he was going to cry. Sherlock had to look away or he would cry. He tossed John a pair of sweatpants, which John gratefully took, winked at Sherlock and went into the bathroom to change.

…

Later when John was tucked into Sherlock's chest lying in bed, Sherlock spoke while carding his hands through John's hair.

"You wanna talk about it?"

John shook his head, further snuggling his face into the soft material covering warm skin. Neither spoke for the rest of the night.

…

Wednesday consisted of few words spoken, a tense atmosphere and more rain.

Sherlock felt that John wasn't trusting him as much lately. A little stab of pain was ever present in his heart, yearning to know if John felt the same way about him and reminding him of the chance that John didn't feel the same and the possibility that it was happening again…

…

Thursday rolled around and John barely spoke a word all day, but he did hold Sherlock's hand under the table. All hope was not lost.

After school Sherlock caught John before he could run off just to return to the house at a late hour.

"John, wait, hey. Where are you going?" Sherlock walked alongside John.

"Oh, hey. Um, nowhere really, I'll meet up with you later, kay?" John said. Sherlock eyes dropped, his smile wiped from his face, a pained look in his eyes. He started to turn and walk away but John stopped him. "I'm sorry. I've been a bit rude and quiet and I've been blowing you off. How bout we get something from the café?" Would that be good?"

Despite his previous mood, John genuinely seemed apologetic. The corners of Sherlock's lips raised slightly and he nodded shyly.

"Good," John took Sherlock's hand and warmly kissed Sherlock's small smile. "Let's go then."

They walked in silence, but instead of tense silence like the days previous it was comfortable and peaceful. Thin clouds covered the sky, providing a perfect veil for the sun. Slowly the suburbs became the city, the noise of cars and people bustling home from work increased and the café came into view.

"That's weird," Sherlock said as they approached the door. The window was covered in black paper, opaque, blinding anyone from inside. Sherlock tried to open the door but it just rattled and stayed shut. Locked.

"Hm." John said, confused. "What now?"

"I know a place we can get drinks, then I don't know, maybe we could go to the park behind the library?" Sherlock suggested, just hoping John wouldn't bail.

"Yeah okay."

They each got a coffee from a bright corner shop and sipped slowly as they made their way to a little park. Thankfully it was empty, for children were home for dinner and the elderly have had their turn at feeding the birds. The rusting metal structure and swing set stood in a flat sea of pebbles. A soccer field lay behind, torn tufts of grass littered the whole area surrounding.

Sherlock went ahead and sat down on one of the swings, John followed. His feet dangled in the air, and so he swung slightly in the light breeze. For a few minutes neither spoke, until John finally talked.

"I'm sorry for neglecting you the past few days. I got a bit mad about being bullied and I took it out on you, so I'm sorry. I didn't want to say or do something I didn't mean. Can you forgive me?" John sadly looked down at the ground.

"Of course I forgive you John, I understand, you just needed time. And you told me a lot of personal stuff and I haven't really opened up. I trust you, really I do, it's just I wanted to forget about it, but I get a nagging feeling, every day that the same thing will happen and it scares me. You say you won't leave, and I believe you, but that feeling won't go away." Sherlock says kind of angrily.

"You can tell me anything, Sherlock, but if you don't I understand. Whatever you have gone through I promise I will do my best to prevent it from happening again." John smiled softly.

"Thank you," Sherlock whispered. "You've been so amazing, you deserve to know more…" Sherlock took a shaky breath. "I guess it started when I met Victor…"


	19. Chapter 19

…

Sherlock was trusting him, finally John would be open to the secrets of Sherlock. He would know his past and be able to help in the future, but now, in the present, he had to listen and comfort. John sipped his coffee and turned his head to look at Sherlock.

"I was 15, just started high school. I was homeschooled 'till then, so I didn't know anyone at all. I didn't know how to talk to people, how to make friends, what people would expect. Mycroft didn't really talk to me much, so I had no idea what people liked or did. It was a whole other world." Sherlock was looking straight ahead, holding his drink in his hands.

"Victor came up to me on the first day of school because he saw that I was lost. He was a ginger, freckled and shorter than me. I didn't know if it was normal to make friends in one day or whatever so I went with it. After about a month, Victor was failing all his classes. We weren't very close but he came over every once in a while and hung out at lunch. I was doing exceptionally well in school because my mom taught me at a higher level and Mycroft tutored me, told me it's boring when no one knows as much as him or something." Sherlock squinted his eyes and took a sip.

John stayed silent, attentively listening.

"Anyway he asked me for help, I said sure because he was my only friend and I didn't want to disappoint him. At first, I was just tutoring him, and his grades went up a little. Then he started getting mad that they weren't as high as mine, that I wasn't teaching him right. I was lost, I really was trying, I just had knowledge built up over years and he wasn't trying to learn it, wasn't putting in the effort."

"I trusted Victor, he took me to see things I never saw before. I stayed indoors mainly as a kid, didn't get out much. He brought me to the cinema, carnivals, the zoo. He opened my eyes to the wonders of the real world. Victor brought me to parties and introduced me to other people, helped me develop my social skills, all that." He took a deep breath.

"He was my closest friend, I'd made a few but only talked to them at school and the occasional outing but I don't think they really liked me. I was the 'nerd' and often felt like a third wheel or a tag-a-long. I don't fit in with many people. Victor though, I thought we connected. Over the summer I invited him over, but he always seemed to be busy. One time he called saying he was going to camp for a week so he couldn't talk, but I saw him and some of the other guys on TV at a concert. It hurt, more than I expected, not that he didn't invite me, but that he lied."

John nodded solemnly, wishing that the swings were closer together so he could comfort his boyfriend, shield off this awful memory, soothe his sadness but John was afraid that if he moved Sherlock would stop talking.

"As soon as we got back to school for second year he immediately came back to me, and I didn't have anyone else so I didn't mention the concert. I kept more to myself, wouldn't tell him what's wrong. He would guilt me into doing his work, and when he came back with good grades he would pat me on the back and hand me another assignment."

"Eventually, juggling two loads of work, pressure from my brother, the stress of being a teenager and frustration I cracked. I told Victor I wasn't going to do his work anymore. We were at my house." Sherlock's voice dropped quieter now. "He took his stuff. He walked out of my room, and… and before he left he said something."

John now didn't care if Sherlock stopped, he stood up and put down his now cold coffee, knelt in front of Sherlock's swing and gently took the cup from the boy's hand. Sherlock was clutching the paper cup so tight it left crinkles. John wrapped Sherlock's hands in his and looked up. Sherlock was still looking dazed, tears prickling the backs of his eyes, looking at nothing.

"He said… 'then what exactly is the point of you…" Sherlock said in barely a whisper, voice breaking on 'you'. A tear escaped, slowly rolling down his cheek.

John wasn't just sad now, he was mad. Who had the right to tell this amazing, intelligent, passionate person he was useless. Who had the right to use him, to victimize and traumatize him. No one, that's who.

"Sherlock, I'm sorry someone was so… evil to you. He doesn't deserve someone as amazing as you, and it's not fair that he just played with you. Your heart is precious, and anyone to betray it is a foul creature. I think you're brilliant, and loving, and sweet and perfectly flawed and I promise that I will stay, unless you change your mind and don't want me around, and I will try to prevent any harm that may come to you, and If I mess up I will be here to comfort you and help you and protect you." John let out a puff of slightly angry breath and softly wiped the tear from Sherlock's face with his hand.

Sherlock looked up at him with a vulnerable, soft gaze and smiled so lovingly John felt like he was going to melt.

"You're not going anywhere," Sherlock smirked then softened again. "Thank you," Sherlock whispered. Leaning forward to press his forehead against John's.

John squeezed the hand he was still holding and looped an arm around Sherlock's neck with the other. "No problem, thank you for sharing your story," He said, smiled and tilted his head up to make their lips brush across each other.

"Let's go home," Sherlock nuzzled his nose to Johns, who grinned and stood up, pulling Sherlock up with him by the hand and continued to hold his hand during the walk back.

….

Please Review any constructive criticism to improve my writing or any comments


	20. Chapter 20

Back again. All constructive criticism/comments help fuel me! :)

...

John wanted to do something nice for Sherlock. The dinner was more a family thing, this was to be more personal. One thing, John didn't have a clue what he could possibly plan that would express his gratitude and feelings.

He walked to school with Sherlock, and along the way asked some questions as to get a general idea of what Sherlock might like.

"Just out of the blue, what would be your ideal date?" John asks breezily.

Sherlock hummed contemplatively and replied with a smile, "anything that involves you. Sorry if that came across as cheesy… but I'm serious."

 _Crap,_ John thought but squeezed Sherlock's hand and leaned into his shoulder. "But like, what have you always wanted to do." John urges.

"I don't know, I suppose I'd like to travel when I'm older, to the Glasgow science centre and some other scientific exhibits around England.

 _This is not going to work,_ "Sounds like a good plan to me," John smiled but inside he was ripping his hair out.

…

At lunch, before John went to meet Sherlock, he caught Derek. Under his breath he said "I need some help planning something special, can you help me out?"

Derek grinned and clapped him on the back. "Sure thing Johnny, my house, 6, right around the corner from here, blue door. I'll get some of the others too."

"Thanks," John said and tugged his backpack straps. With a dismissive nod, he walked outside to see Sherlock sitting on the bench.

"Hey," Sherlock said, sliding over to make room in the corner of the bench for John, who immediately sat down.

"Hey, I, uh, have to work late tonight and I don't think I'll be able to get back to your house so I'll find somewhere to spend the night." John couldn't look him in the eye.

"But its Friday," Sherlock looked dejected.

"I know, It's just I haven't been working much due to football and hanging out with you, I want to keep up my good employee reputation." John risked a glance, Sherlock's eyes dropped. He didn't understand why John couldn't walk back after his shift like he usually does. _Did I do something wrong?_ Sherlock thought.

"Yeah, sure, I guess." He said.

"Hey, I'll be back in the morning and we can spend the weekend together," John tried.

"I have an appointment tomorrow that's out of town, then mum's taking me shopping." Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Anyway, I won't be home tomorrow." He said with a slight edge.

"Sunday then," John tried again.

"Okay, Sunday."

"Sunday," John said affirmatively and grabbed Sherlock's hand, bringing it up to kiss it.

Sherlock couldn't help but smile bashfully and leaned his head down to rest on John's shoulder. "Sunday."

…

The rest of the school day passed by quickly, John fretting over if lying to Sherlock was a good idea, but before he could think to regret it the final bell sounded. John packed his bag and deliberately took a long time in the washroom, assuring that Sherlock would leave by the time John exited the school to avoid questioning.

…

Sherlock walked home dejectedly, _he didn't even come to say goodbye._

When Sherlock walked in the door, his mom asked him how his day was, but he ignored her and slouched up to his room.

…

John killed time by walking and thinking, picking at grass and reading a book he picked up from the school library. Finally, six came and John walked over to the only house with a blue door. Derek answered on the first ring of the doorbell.

"John! Come in, Victoria and Isaac are already in the basement. Head down, I'll get food."

His parents weren't home, as evident from the lack of cars in the driveway and the silence emitting from the rest of the house. An open concept kitchen occupied most of the main floor, attached to a cozy living room. Everything was immaculate, even the wooden floors were scratch-free. John descended the silent, sturdy stairs and followed the voices of Victoria, who although kissed John at the party, remained his friend, and Isaac, a nice boy who was also on the football team.

The basement was a wide, dim area with three sofas around a low coffee table adorned with a flower vase and drinking glasses. A bar was in one corner of the large space and a large flat screen hung on the wall in front of the sofas.

Isaac and Victoria waved him over to sit on the leather couches, which were quite comfortable. Derek walked in juggling a few water bottles, soda cans and bags of chips. John got back up to help him carry everything over to the table.

Once they were all seated with a drink, chip bowls placed around the table, Derek spoke up. "So John, what's the problem?"

John sipped his water. "It's not really a problem. Sherlock's been so nice to me, and he just trusted me with his secrets and all that and I'm terribly grateful, but I don't know how to show him. I wanna do something nice, but I have no idea what to do. He likes science, and I think he likes dogs, but other than that I really don't know."

A contemplative silence endured for a few minutes before Victoria spoke up. "You could get him a puppy?"

John chuckled. "Not a bad idea, but I don't think his mum would appreciate that, but it's the right idea. I want something he'll love and appreciate."

"What kind of music does he like?" Isaac asked around a handful of chips.

"Well he likes rock, he was listening to Queen when I went over for the first time."

"Any other artists? You could take him to a concert," Isaac suggested.

"That's true, but I don't know who's having a concert here, or if he'll even like them." John sighed.

"Well you said he likes science, you could take him to a science museum," Derek said.

"Ooh, you could do something like a scavenger hunt around the city ending at the museum, leaving little gifts and clues for him!" Victoria squealed.

John thought for a moment, then smiled. "Yeah, I like that idea."

"Great! Let's brainstorm ideas of places and gifts. Oh this'll be so fun, he'll love it so much I'm sure!" Victoria squealed.

…

After they had a sufficient list, Derek pulled out his Xbox, Call of Duty. They were surprised how skilled John was at it, racking up the most kills and gaining a new high score on Derek's system.

Around 8, Derek's parents came home and ordered a pizza for them, John, having not had pizza in a long time, wolfed down seven slices.

"Hey John, wanna spend the night?" Derek asked.

John was surprised, he'd never really slept anywhere other than Sherlock's, his space and his old house, or the occasional bench or bus stop. "Uh yeah sure that'd be great."

 _How would Sherlock react if he found out? I'm sure he'll understand. But I lied to him. Is this a bad idea? Better than sleeping outside. Will this ruin us? I miss him. He looked sad at lunch. I'm such a bad boyfriend._ –

"Great," Derek said, interrupting his thoughts. He tossed a blanket at John, who caught it before it could hit his face. John smiled. _I'm allowed to have other friends, plus Sherlock won't find out._

"This was a lot of fun, I can't wait till Sherlock sees what you did for him. Well, I'm off. Night," Victoria said, pulled John into a hug, and disappeared up the stairs.

"I better head home too, See ya Monday," Isaac said, jacket slung over his shoulder, and he was gone.

A long night filled with soda, chips, cold pizza and video games swept away John's doubts and before he knew it, it was 3 in the morning and his eyes hurt. The game ended and John wiped the crumbs from his shirt.

"I don't think I can stay awake for another game." John yawned.

"Good call," Derek rubbed his eyes and switched off the system. "Night."

"Night," John replied into the darkness.


	21. Chapter 21

John stayed at Derek's pretty much all day Saturday, playing video games, kicking a ball around outside, normal teenage boy things, though John couldn't help wondering how Sherlock was. He seemed pretty upset that John wasn't staying with him last night, and now they had to wait until Sunday to see each other. John supposes he could go to Sherlock's in the evening, when he'll be home, but decides to let the family have some time.

Ever since John came into Sherlock's life he's practically invaded their family, however much Sherlock's mum says they don't mind.

John sleeps on a park bench that night, underneath the stars with a warm breeze as a blanket. He falls asleep, thinking of the night Sherlock rescued him in this very spot. John will never forget the words whispered into his ear, ghosting across his neck. _Live for Sherlock Holmes._

…

Sunday morning, despite sleeping on a bench, John finds the sun high in the sky. _Crap._ He and Sherlock were supposed to spend the whole day together, and it was almost noon already. John sits up, rubs his eyes and slaps his cheeks before standing and practically sprinting to Sherlock's house.

Half an hour later, John arrives panting at the front door. No car in the driveway. John knocks on the door, exhaustion dripping from his limbs. Sherlock answers a moment later, a small smile lifting his face for a moment. John steps over the threshold and takes off his shoes while Sherlock closes the door behind him.

"Are we alone?" John asks once his task is finished.

"Yes." Sherlock says, walking into the living room, alight with streams of sunlight from the window.

John briefly questions the bluntness of the answer, but quickly gets over it, following Sherlock. Before Sherlock can sit down though, John puts a hand on his shoulder, lightly tugging to get him to turn around. Sherlock complies, a soft look on his face.

John leans up and loops an arm around his waist, pulling him closer. "Good, cause then I can do this," John whispers and tilts his face to connect their lips. Sherlock leans into it, sighing and letting all his doubts fall out.

Their eyes are closed, mouths moving slowly and softly, all the time in the world.

…

Despite their make-up make out, a tense string of unspoken conversation hangs in the air. Though they sit close, they are worlds apart, John's lies tied up in the string. Kissing Sherlock is the only time he can get peace from his guilt because Sherlock is his whole world and John tries to convey that through his kiss.

Though they both feel the tension, neither speak aloud their thoughts. It remains this way all night, although they sleep curled up together, the warmth is weaker and the room is darker.

…

Monday morning, John wakes up before Sherlock. Still feeling guilty but giddy of the thought of his surprise. When can he plan it? Get the stuff? All this without Sherlock knowing. By the time John lightly shakes Sherlock's shoulder to wake him up, only 10 minutes remain before they have to leave for school.

…

"So, where'd you sleep those nights?" Sherlock asked, shoulder's tense, hands clenched in fists as he walks alongside John.

"Oh, you know, Angelo let me sleep on his couch in his office, and Saturday just the park bench." John takes a deep breath. This feels wrong but Sherlock might get mad if he knew the truth. Too late now.

Sherlock just hums and continues walking with a straight face.

…

At lunch, John convinces Sherlock to stay inside. It's a bit chilly out, and John wants Isaac, Derek and Victoria to get to know Sherlock a bit more, to help him make the surprise perfect, but of course things go bad before they can go good.

"John! I had so much fun Friday, we should definitely do that again!" Victoria squeals, winking at him. John's heart stops, Victoria, after noticing Sherlock behind him, looks back at John realizes her mistake. "No- I- I didn't mean- it's not what you think- I swear nothing happened- Oh gosh I'm making this worse, I'm so sorry." Her words don't register in Sherlock's head. He doesn't realize she's already sent an apologetic look towards John and made a beeline. He's frozen.

John turns to him. "Sherlock I swear I didn't do any-" But Sherlock cuts him off.

"You lied." He says. A fact. Sherlock stands there, tears behind his eyes. "You said you were at work, but you were with… her… I thought-I thought you…" but he doesn't finish. John tries to grab his hand but Sherlock tears it away, shaking his head and backing away. Before John can stop him he turns and runs out of the school, not looking back.

John puts his head in his hands, in the middle of the hallway, now alone. _What have I done?_

…

John doesn't go home that night. Instead he walks. Not to anywhere in particular, just silently treads along cement sidewalks. Unaware of the time, John ends up on a lonely road, far from the school with the moon high in the air.

Nearing midnight. John's stomach growls, now unused to missing dinner. Dim streetlamps provide a soft glow in the thin layer of fog blanketing the ground. John stops, stilling the mist around his feet. His mind is blank, tears all fallen. Now he is a statue. Mechanically, John turns on his heel and heads back toward the school.

In very early morning, about 2:30, John lies awake in a ditch, the soil cool and damp against his neck. Only one thing is on his mind. Gaining forgiveness.

He doesn't realize that Sherlock skipped fifth period, and hasn't returned to the school since lunch. He is unaware that Sherlock is curled up in his bed, clutching his pillow to his chest and silent tears are streaking down his face.

He is aware however, that he made a mistake and needs to fix it before he loses the only person that he has, the only person that matters, the one he loves.


	22. Chapter 22

The sun slowly peaked over the horizon, waking up the birds. Cars rushed to get people to their jobs, the whoosh and squeals of the tires on the road woke John up, who got a whole of three hours' sleep lying in the ditch. He sat up, squinting against the bright rays and yawned.

John was relaxed until the flood of yesterday washed over him. Instantly his heart started racing and the bags under his eyes deepened further. Exhausted, sorrowful, regretful, worried, dreariness, and an overall dislike for life tormented John along his walk back to school. Honestly John didn't want to go at all, he wished he had taken the pill back from Sherlock, he wished he never lied and he wished, for once in his life that something good he had would last.

Only after he tripped over a lump of grass did John notice how heavy his backpack felt. John pushed himself up and seriously thought about ditching and just going to jump in a lake or something, but eventually decided to sit through the day and try not to think about him.

John walked into the school with his head down and headed straight to calculus. He sat in the seat beside Sherlock's, wondering how the other would react. He was answered when the boy in question walked in the classroom and immediately went to the back of the class to sit in the corner.

John's heart dropped, Sherlock's eyes were sunken and tinged red. His hair was loose and uncombed, his clothes rumpled and creased. He did not look at John. He did not talk or lift his head up.

John was deflated, and stayed silent himself for the remainder of the class.

Science was a similar affair, Sherlock avoided John and John didn't protest. Mr. T sent worrying glances his way on multiple occasions but John refused to make eye contact. At the end of class Mr. T called John but he had already run out of the classroom.

John ignored most of English, and found himself sitting in a corner of the library with his head in his hands at lunchtime. To put it bluntly, he was alone and frightened and flat.

…

Sherlock wanted John back. He knew John was in the library, curled up in a ball. He wanted nothing other than to run to him and wrap him in his arms and tell him it's alright, he doesn't have to cry. But John lied to him. Why would John lie if there's nothing to worry about. Did Sherlock do something wrong? He gave him a bed, and food, and a more-than-friend, why would John do that? What if John didn't do anything wrong though, what if he just didn't want you to know for his own reasons? But he still lied!

Sherlock was at war with himself, but his broken heart and logical reasoning told him that he wasn't good enough for John. And with Molly gone he was truly alone. Sherlock decided he didn't want to go to fifth period, and instead called his mom on his phone and told her he wanted to go home. She didn't argue.

Sherlock looked out the window of the passenger side and watched the rain drip down the glass.

…

John didn't feel like playing football after school on the muddy turf in the pouring rain but he does it anyway. Maybe it will distract him or some therapy crap like that. Derek seemed to pick up that something happened when Sherlock doesn't show up to the game.

Sherlock always comes to the games, no matter the weather or temperature. He may multitask by working on homework or something but he's always there. And this is the last game, which determines whether their team will move on to the playoffs. And Sherlock's not here.

Derek walked up to John, holding his helmet under his shoulder. "Hey buddy, you alright?" He said and lightly punched John's shoulder.

"Yeah, fine," John sniffed and slid his helmet on to cover up his dreadful expression. Derek tried to cheer him up a bit.

"Well, if you wanna talk, I'm here. Anyway we gotta game to win! C'mon, we need you at your best." Derek put on his own helmet knocked it together with John's. He jogged away to join the team huddle, John sighed and slowly followed. The rain washed him of his sorrow and strengthened him. The thrill of the game distracted John and he played football like he's never played before. He played with a new determination and passion, which the fans could only cheer on.

The final score was 49-8 for London's 5th. The team all clapped John on the back, and pushed him around. John laughed and shoved back playfully, knocking helmets and high fiving one another.

But as soon as John took off his helmet his dread returned. The thought of sleeping on a wet bench or damp concrete put a damper on his mood. John didn't want to spend the night thinking about his mistakes or regrets, so he changed, stuffed his backpack in his locker and walked into the city.

"Hey, Angelo?" John walked into his boss's office.

"John? It's ten o'clock? Whatcha doing here? What's wrong?" Angelo stiffened at the sight of John.

"Um, do you have a couch I could spend the night on or something? Uh, Sherlock and I are in a bit of an argument." John responded, quietly. John was a teenager of pride, and being resorted to asking his boss didn't appeal to him.

Angelo seemed… happy? He smiled and gestured to the door leading somewhere John did not know, out of his office. "Of course, anything for you. There's a couch in there, help yourself to a meal on the house, you look like you haven't eaten in days! Have a good night," Angelo nodded to dismiss him.

John had, in fact, not eaten in at least a day, but he only realized now when it had been brought to his attention. "Thank you, so much, I really appreciate it." John awkwardly nodded back and backed into the kitchen to grab a bite.

Alonso, the head chef, gladly gave him a serving of pasta in a takeout container after John had explained the situation. John appreciated that Alonso had not asked any questions, and trusted John's word. John avoided eye contact with Angelo as he was crossing the office to get to the door. Angelo seemed invested in his computer at the moment, clicking away at the keyboard. John peeked at the screen before slinking into the unknown room. It seemed he was writing an email to someone, but he couldn't make out who.

John rubbed his eyes and surveyed the room, there was, as Angelo said, a plush red couch along one wall. It was a fairly small space, but still like 5 times the size of his space. There was a sink, a trash can, and a rug. Simple, but more than John could have asked for. Although the walls were painted a dark brown, and the floor was stone, the room was cozy and John quickly ate, washed his hands and fell asleep.


	23. Chapter 23

John awoke Wednesday morning to a rapping on the door. He sat up, wiped the sleep from his eyes and swung his legs over the side of the couch. The door creaked open and Angelo walked in holding a glass of water and a plate of eggs, and a bag hanging from his wrist, pushing the door open with his behind.

"Morning, here's some hearty breakfast and some lunch for school. Fatten you up a bit, skinny lad." Angelo placed the food on the armrest of the couch, smiled and left, door swinging shut behind him.

John thought about how he would make Sherlock listen to him today. He would make sure Sherlock understood that John didn't and would never cheat on him. Never. John's heart sped up when he imagined Sherlock forgiving him, realizing that John needed him, holding him and never letting him go.

John took a bite of the salty, delicious scrambled eggs and a sip of water. Something felt off, like someone turned off the gravity. _I think I'll just lay back down._ He thought, closing his eyes and letting a dreamy feeling to wash him into unconsciousness.

…

Sherlock lay awake, having not slept at all. He wondered where John was, then chastised himself for it. _You don't need him. He lied to you. That's what people do, they will break your heart._ Sherlock gradually stood up and trembled downstairs. He's been lonely before, but once he had a taste of John's companionship it was hard- almost unbearable to go back when there was still a chance…

When he got to school, he thought about talking to John, sorting this out, hopefully John would come back and forgive him for being rash. But John wasn't in calculus. Or science. Or lunch.

Sherlock didn't want to worry, but he couldn't quite ignore the gnawing in the back of his heart. _Was he okay? John's old enough to take care of himself, he doesn't need you to protect him. But what if he's in danger. No, he's not your responsibility anymore. He was never my responsibility, he was my privilege._ Gah.

Sherlock went the whole day without talking. Lost in his studies and his thoughts. With a heavy heart, Sherlock decided to sulk home instead of calling his mom to drive him. He quietly shuts the door behind him, takes off his shoes, and trudges up the stairs to his room. His mom calls to him but he ignores her.

Sherlock lowers himself onto his bed, pulls out his noise-cancelling earbuds and drowns out the world with classic rock. The pounding of the bass in his ears is interrupted by the ping of a text alert.

He rarely texts anyone, only his parents, molly, occasionally Mycroft, and maybe an old friend. What he doesn't expect is quite a long message from an unknown number. As he reads it, his heart turns cold.

 _Hello Sherlock,  
Ever since that girl at the party kissed me I truly questioned what I am. Leaving you in the dark was because I wasn't sure, I was confused, and why say anything if you were happy? Probably you're wondering why the sudden change of heart and the quick disappearance. Maybe I thought that it would be better to just cut it off quickly, I mean you're the one that left me at school and ignored me all of yesterday. Even though everyone knew we'd break up, I actually thought it might last until I saw how you overreact, and don't listen to me and what not. And Victoria is much better to me, even if she kissed me when we were dating. Truly amazing. Can you believe her and I have only just met, we have such a connection. Anyways, forget about me. Feelings disappear. Every relationship has troubles, it was only a matter of time. Sorry. Eventually you'll find someone though. Victoria's great, for me. Elevates my heart. Never blows me off. I think we should stay away from each other, I don't know if you were in love with me, but… Love is a tricky thing. One never forgets the feeling of a first love, I know if she was ever taken away from me I'd probably jump off a bridge. Victoria completes me the way you never did, I'm sorry. Especially sorry I brought you into this whole thing to begin with. You know. Our 'thing' was just you pitying me for being suicidal and I being so desperate to not be lonely. Understand that I enjoyed your company, you are truly exceptional. _

_John (p.s. I'm texting from Derek's phone which is why you don't recognize the number. Sorry this dragged on for a while, I needed the message to clearly get across)_

Sherlock let the phone slip out of his hand where is softly landed on the carpet. He didn't- couldn't understand. He thought that John was… he didn't even know now. He wasn't sure who John was anymore, or what he ever was before.

Sherlock opened his drawer and pulled out the small bottle he took from John all those months ago. Sherlock wonders what would have happened if he didn't go to John that night. His heart wouldn't be broken right now. He wouldn't spend every aching moment awake thinking about him. Sherlock slowly clutched the bottle and draped a blanket over himself, curling up into a ball.

Twenty minutes later Sherlock's mum calls up for dinner. Ten minutes after that someone raps on his door.

Mycroft turns the handle and pushes open the door once he realizes he's not going to get a response.

"Oh Sherlock," Mycroft sat down on the edge of the bed, lifting the covers off of his baby brother's face. Noticing the bottle he widens his eyes and opens Sherlock's hand so that the bottle slips out and onto the bed covers. Mycroft picks it up and pockets it. "Tell me what happened," his voice was surprisingly soft.

Sherlock didn't move, but with his hoarse voice grunted "phone," half muffed by a pillow wet with tears.

Mycroft glanced around the room, then the side table and finally over the edge to the floor. He bent over, swept up the phone and unlocked it. The text popped up, having been the last application opened. Mycroft scrolled to the top of the message and read it silently. He rested a hand on Sherlock's shoulder and read it again.

"Sentiment, I see brother, is clouding your skills and reasoning." Mycroft said half softly, half stoic. "I assume you failed to recognize the simplest of codes."

Sherlock sat up and rubbed his eyes. "This isn't a joke Mycroft. What the hell are you talking about."

"Not a joke, brother mine. The first letter of each sentence. The fact that you failed to see this proves that while sentiment has its perks, caring is not always an advantage. I'll be waiting in the car downstairs, have to make a call first."

Sherlock wiped the blurriness from his eyes, the text still a bit fuzzy. When all cleared and Sherlock could read it, his heart pounded, his brain making a decision to jump up and run full speed down the stairs without even understanding what it meant.

 _HELP ME AT CAFÉ SEVEN I LOVE YOU._

I Love you.


	24. Chapter 24

…1 ½ ish hours ago…

"Wakey wakey it's almost time"

John groaned and opened his eyes, straining against the bright light of a flashlight. Holy hell did his head hurt, a pounding migraine induced by the chemical or whatever he was tricked into eating. Angelo, Vinci and three other bigger men stood in a circle around John, who was stuck in a chair.

Not that John could've run away if he hadn't been bound, his limbs were like jelly, his vision fuzzy and muscles drowsy. Nonetheless, his hands were tied behind him in a fierce, biting knot, his legs each zip tied to a leg of the chair. The cold winter air touched his bare chest and John shivered.

They were in the café. It was almost indistinguishable with no whirring machines, sweet confectionaries or the cozy deco it usually adorned. "What the hell?" John tugged a bit at his restraints.

"Don't bother, Johnny. You see, you're going to die and there's nothing you can do about it. We begin at seven." Angelo was obviously the leader, Vinci being his second. Angelo nodded at the guys, dismissing them for the time being. They went through a door behind the counter, presumably leaving to create an alibi.

"Before I explain John, do you have any last requests?" Angelo seemed relaxed.

"A phone call?" John spat, kind of sarcastically.

Angelo seemed to think for a moment, then pulled out a disposable phone from a black bag on the counter, and handed it to John. "A text. Good idea actually, why don't you text that 'ex' of yours, tell 'em that you're gone for good. Make him believe it. One text, any funny business and I beat you over the head, you are in no way to indicate you are in trouble or anything is wrong, you hear me boy? Make him believe that you hate him." He snickered.

John inwardly cringed, what if Sherlock honestly didn't care if he lived or died? If he figured it out some way to code a message, and Sherlock figured it out, would he try to save John? It's worth a shot, and if Sherlock doesn't care then why live anyway. _That's a horrible mind-set. Your life is your own, not for someone else to decide. Everyone hates you. Then I'll run away and start again._ Argh. John felt like Gollum, arguing with himself, the back and forth bickering between his logic and self-conscious.

John typed in the number he memorized that one night after Sherlock got beat up. John had taken the phone whilst Sherlock was sleeping and made sure he committed it to memory. Although John didn't, and still does not have a phone, he figured that if in an emergency it would be better to have it and not need it than need it and not have it. Seems like he made the right choice.

When he finished, he handed it to Angelo, who read it over and pressed send. "Aw that's a bit rude, don't ya think?" Angelo grinned.

John kept a straight face, nothing he said in the message was true, rather the opposite, but he couldn't let that show. "He deserves to know the truth."

Angelo shrugged. "Do you really feel that way?" John stayed silent. "Whatever, better for me that he won't come investigating."

"Can you please tell me what's going on?!" The shock of who was kidnapping him and his situation descended upon him. John always thought there was more to Angelo, but he'd been nice to John for years! Why now? Why this?

"I suppose you deserve an explanation. Very well, you see, it began not too long ago, 'bout a year and a bit. We met at an event for restaurant owners to get to know each other, me and Vince. Talked about teaming up, make some friends and what not about business. We got to talking about legends and myths. Long story short we formed a cult, weekly satanic sacrifices. See, we believe that if we sacrifice fresh young blood at the same time every week, we'll eventually either summon the devil himself or earn ourselves a right place on the throne o' hell, ruling the underworld." Angelo sighed,

"We've got a whole stock of you lot to choose from, being employees of us. See John, you were all alone, nobody to miss you or look into it, I was waiting until our… older supply ran out first. Make sure we use our resources wisely. Then you had to go and get yourself a little boyfriend, which initially I was a bit peeved at, cause it forced me to kill that sweet girl who worked here. Didn't want to, but needs be needs." Angelo stopped to take a breath.

"YOU DIDN'T HAVE TO KILL ANYONE! YOU'RE INSANE, INHUMAN." John shouted, struggling angrily.

"Ah, we'll see who's ruling who when death takes us. Understand John, this isn't personal. It's just something I have to do for myself, it's my purpose, I can feel it. Continuing… it all worked out because you made a bloody stupid mistake which cost you his trust and friendship and blah. Now you have no one to care about you, poor Johnny." Angelo looked at his watch. "An hour to go, hmmm, let me tell you about our little hints that, should you have seen, you wouldn't be in this situation."

John bared his teeth.

"Let's start with Vinci. He's a great guy, you know his tattoos? Janus. The two-faced Greek God. See, we also ran with that whole 'double-faced' theme when he renamed his restaurant _doppia faccia,_ the literal Italian translation of 'double face'. How we attract people, we're up to five guys now. The more we have together in a group, the less we have to kill, and the more options we have. Good innit that I know how to advertise. I have hidden messages everywhere." Angelo chuckled. "Anyway enough chit-chat for now, I'll be back in about a half hour to wake you up. See ya," Angelo reached behind the counter to grab something.

 _Wake up? But…_ And as the bat caught the side of his head, John prayed.


	25. Chapter 25

It took a moment for it to click in Sherlock's mind. _HELP._ John was in trouble. Sherlock rubbed his eyes and jumped out of bed, tripping over his own legs.

His clothes were crumpled, his heart confused, his head pounding, his limbs shaking, Sherlock was overwhelmed and not quite sure what was actually happening right now.

On his way down the stairs he almost fell over the railing, and forgot to shut the door on the way out.

His mum yelled from the kitchen, "Oi, where you boys hurrying off to?" But Sherlock didn't hear. There was only one thing on his mind.

Mycroft was sitting in his car, the engine on and ready to go. Sherlock threw open the door and flew inside. "Go! Go!" Sherlock yelled.

"Close the door." Mycroft said calmly. Sherlock shut it with a force that could move mountains.

"GO!" he yelled.

"Put your seatbelt on." Mycroft added. Sherlock huffed and ripped the seatbelt into its holder. It clicked in place. "Now, brother, tall me where it is this cafe is."

Sherlock was stunned for a second, that Mycroft didn't know something. "Um, edge of the city, across from the pavillion."

Mycroft sent a quick text and put the car into gear. "Then let's get going."

...

John woke up with a splitting headache to the pounding of a heavy drum. Instead of a chair, John was now tied to a stool, his back exposed. His hands were tied in front of him, resting on his lap while his legs were tangled in the stool's legs.

"Good, yur up." Angelo gruffed, the drum-beater behind him. Angelo looked at his watch. "it's 5 minutes to 7, what would you like, Johnny, in your last few minutes."

John spit at his feet, tainted with blood. He wouldn't give Angelo the satisfaction of looking into his eyes or begging for mercy. Sherlock hadn't come.

"Well that wasn't very nice," Angelo tutted and stepped forward. John leaned back as far as he could without tipping, but someone behind him pressed their fingers into the bloody cut left behind from the bat. John gritted his teeth, refraining from screaming. He let out a small hiss before the fingers left, leaving a searing pain in the side of his head.

John focused now on controlling his breathing, inhale… exhale… calm, relax. He clenched and unclenched his fists, blocking out the taunting laughs of the men behind him.

John weakly strained against the bonds, ready to give up.

"Aaaaaaaaaaand seven!" Angelo yelled, looking at his watch. As if a scene from a play, the five guys moved into different positions like robots. Vinci retrieved something from his back pocket but John couldn't see what it was, and he couldn't hear because of all the noise the others were making.

The one with the drum stood diagonally left from John, while another stood to his right. Angelo stood directly infront of him, while he could feel Vinci standing behind him about a foot away. The other guy must be behind him somewhere as well.

Angelo pulled a book from behind him, it was thick, leather bound and old. Ancient runes were embedded in the cover. John had the courage (and perhaps stupidity) to roll his eyes.

"Something funny boy?" Angelo asked while flipping through the yellowed pages.

At least John wasn't stupid enough to voice his thoughts. _This is so iconic and stereotypical it could be in a movie. Summoning Satan! Sacrifice a teenager!_ John snickered under his breath. _The crush coming to save the day._ John breathed deeply. He kind of wished he were in a movie now. Most of those had a happy ending.

Angelo found the page he was looking for, and the pounding of the drum decreased in volume, now a quiet thumping reverberating through the floor and up John's legs, causing him to shiver.

" _Saht no maai nishthm. Set eghno maai na sithaj."_ Angelo chanted. John wriggled uncomfortably. Somewhere behind him, a man dropped a match, igniting a circle of fire contained around them. _How'd they do that?_ A wave of heat invaded his face and chest. The smoke made the air thick and foggy, John's eyes started to water.

Vinci shuffled behind him. Angelo did some sort of bowing his head, turned around a few times.

The fire died down a bit so it was just a short flickering of flames encircling the room but far enough from the wall that it wouldn't catch.

Something snaked around his shoulder, a leather strap, a whip? John heard Vinci morbidly laughing under his breath.

"DISEGNA SANGUE" Angelo cried.

John heard the whip snap before the line of fire seared across his back. He strained, hunched over with his eyes squeezed shut. Damn that hurt. His back felt like it was ripped in two. It was on fire. It burned. It hurt. _Can it be over now?_ A tear rolled down his cheek, his eyes still squeezed shut.

John didn't hold back his scream.

"Somebody shut him up!" Must've been Vinci shouted. The drummer boy set his drum down and jogged to the counter, retrieved a roll of duct tape and threw it to Vinci who now had his large meaty hand over John's mouth.

Vinci forced Johns mouth shut and not nicely taped it shut multiple times.

Getting hard to breathe. Nose stuffed from smoke. Oxygen. Need.

When his back dulled to a throbbing line of heat he could feel the blood dripping down. Angelo continued chanting in slurred background noise, then the whip cracked again.

As John faded in and out of unconsousness, the sound of sirens grew louder from outside the boarded windows.


	26. Chapter 26

Fuzzy. Everything was fuzzy. Slurred. Dim.

"Shit," Angelo muttered.

The flashing of police lights could be seen above and below the boards on the window. The wailing sirens drew nearer.

"What do we do boss?" The guy behind John said, panic at the back of his throat.

"We can't get caught. We need to leave. Grab anything you can, quickly!"

The men snapped out of their trance and got to work, quickly grabbing weapons, matches, the duct tape and their black duffel bags.

"But sir, the boy, he knows who we are, he's a witness." Vinci said in his thick accent.

Angelo seemed to think for a moment. "Kill him."

John's stomach sunk, his heart pounding.

"How? We don't have time for the whip, it'll take too long for him to bleed out." He boomed.

Angelo tossed him a knife, "Stab 'm in his wretched lonely heart."

John was hyperventilating, struggling to breathe, tugging against his restraints to no avail.

"Quickly!" Angelo huffed as he grabbed his own duffel bag and followed the other men out the back door.

Vinci looked around, heard tires squeaking. Car doors opening. He knelt in front of John. "I'm sorry about this, I really am. You seemed like a good kid, it's just, you know."

John didn't know. Didn't understand.

"Well, 'ere it goes," Vinci adjusted his grip on the knife. It was long, jagged and pointy. Decently thin but deadly.

He pulled back his arm, bent at the elbow, tattoos snaked from underneath his shirt sleeve. Door pounding. Someone trying to get in. Close. So close.

Vinci looked at the door, frightened, then back at John and thrust the knife forward. John twisted at the last second.

John looked down. The thick handle was protruding out of his shoulder. Pain washed over his shocked body, pumping with adrenaline. White noise filled his ears. Everything was washed silent. John bit down on his cheek, making it bleed but not caring, not feeling. Vinci jumped up, looked at John, then the knife, then the door.

"Shit," he murmured and swiped his bag off the counter and bolted through the back door.

Not a moment later the front door flew off its hinges, three cops filed in, crouched and ready to attack. Two of them sprinted after the thugs out the back door, while one rushed over to John, kneeling down in front of him.

Lestrade. Greg is here, I'm gonna be fine. Damn it hurts.

"I'm sorry 'bout this," Greg whispered. _Sorry about wha? OuCh!_

Suddenly the tape was off his mouth and John could breathe again. Great gulps of air, hoarsely coughing and regaining sense of what actually just happened.

Someone stumbled through the door, tripping over the threshold. They were running, John looked up. It was him. Oh God it was him. He came.

Sherlock stared at him with wide eyes, frozen. John stared back.

Greg looked up at John, then Sherlock. With a nod John didn't see he dismissed himself from the scene and went to talk to Mycroft, who had calmly followed Sherlock into the building.

Sherlock broke his trance and ran to John, skidding on his knees, possibly scraping them but who cares. Sherlock untied John's hands and legs with trembling fingers. All the while murmuring under his breath. "Oh my God John, I'm so sorry. This is all my fault I'm so sorry."

Tears started running down his cheeks, and once he'd finished untying, Sherlock buried his head in Johns lap, stained with blood. He felt John place a hand on the back of his neck, rubbing back and forth. The hand was warm, and wet.

Sherlock looked up and took a moment to look John over. He was shirtless, but Sherlock wasn't happy about it this time. Faint scratches scattered his abdomen, and a trail of blood leading up to the knife. A knife, impaled in his left shoulder. Side of head, lump, scrape, blood. Hit with blunt object. Sherlock crawled around to the back. He drew in a sharp breath.

Two lines, creating an imperfect X, across his whole back. Red, swollen. Blood. Whip.

Sherlock crawled back to the front and grabbed John's hand. "John," he said, voice breaking.

"Shh, Sherlock , shh, we'll talk later." John said, squeezing Sherlock's hand.

"You need a hospital."

John groaned playfully. "Help me up?" He asked. Sherlock smiled at him and pulled him to his feet, taking the majority of his weight. Sherlock was careful not to touch any injured part of John, his arm clutched around his waist underneath the X. John's arm was leaning on Sherlock's shoulders, his sleeping legs limping, his spine struggling to straighten.

An ambulance was waiting outside.

"Wait, can we just… stop, for a minute." John asked. They were standing just inside the door, so that the medics hadn't seen them yet. Greg and Mycroft occupied the police.

"Of course," Sherlock stopped and helped John half lean on the wall. John breathed, in, out. Tears prickled at the back of his eyes.

John gave up holding back and practically fell into Sherlock's chest, burying his face into the others neck. John was positioned so that the knife sticking out of him was in-between Sherlock's arm and torso. Sherlock's heart broke.

He carefully wrapped one arm around his waist and one carding softly through his hair and down his neck.

"Shh, it's okay, it's over now. You're safe. I'm here, I'm never leaving. I'm here. You're gonna be okay. Im never letting you go, you're safe. Shh," Tears rolled down his own cheeks. They stood there a few moments more, John shivering and sobbing, the shock wearing off. Sherlock feeling helpless and broken and clutching to John as if he were life itself. In a way he was.

"Are you cold?" Sherlock asked, starting to tug his shirt over his head.

"S'okay. Yur warm," John muffled. Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut and breathed in John. He'd almost lost him. Never again.

"Okay," John exhaled, pulling back slightly. "Let's get this knife out of me." John attempted a small chuckle. Sherlock kissed his forehead. John felt the promise sink into his skin, into his blood and down to his heart.

Slowly they made their way out of the building, where immediately medics swarmed them, taking John away from Sherlock and into the ambulance.

Sherlock watched as John was lifted into the vehicle. He was about to follow, to stay with John but then he felt a hand on his shoulder. Sherlock looked up. Mycroft had a blank expression, only Sherlock would be able to notice the slight difference in his eyes and mouth that expresses condolence and sorrow.

"He will be alright Sherlock." And that was all that was said. Sherlock nodded forwards, not looking Mycroft in the eye. They stood there until Greg came to ask some questions.

"Tomorrow, Gregory." Mycroft said to Greg, interrupting him mid-sentence. Greg shut his mouth, looked them both over, and nodded, but didn't leave.

"Can we wait in the hospital?" Sherlock whispered.

Mycroft looked down, his heart hurting for his little brother. "Let's go home and tell mother, then I will take you to the hospital."

The ambulance sped away, sirens wailing.

Sherlock looked up at him with deep eyes, expressing love and thankfulness.

Mycroft thought about what he could have been. A cold, heartless ice-man. But he had Greg, and he had his baby brother to look after, and he thought that he was lucky. He didn't want to be just lonely and powerful. He wanted Sherlock to look at him like he was his protector, a caring, kind brother who he could trust and count on. He wanted power, yes, he wanted to keep his intelligence, sure, but what he wanted most of all was his friends and family.

Mycroft thought about who he would've been if he ignored his brother and Gregory's advances in order to close himself off from the world and not have any weaknesses or pressure points. But he realizes now that life wouldn't be worth living he was lonely.

Mycroft watches Sherlock walk slowly over to their car and climb in silently. He then follows, turns the engine on and pulls out of the crime scene, giving Greg a kind wave before driving off towards home.


	27. Chapter 27

John was released the following day.

Sherlock had sat by his bedside last night until the nurses kicked him out because John was sleeping, he wasn't allowed to touch or talk to John in fear of interrupting his rest.

He had arrived at precisely eight o'clock the next morning and greeted the receptionist, who made him sign in. Waste of time.

It was exactly 9:02 when John stirred awake, naked from the waist up but for a few bandages around his shoulder, shorts on underneath the white duvet. The nurses rushed in before John could barely look around.

"We just need to run a few tests. The sooner it's over the sooner he can leave," A middle aged woman kindly smiled at him, faint wrinkles crinkling around her eyes.

John moved his hand so he was gripping Sherlock's pointer finger, like a child. His confused eyes blearily swept across the room, surveying the two women and Sherlock.

Sherlock stood there for a moment, debating, then deciding to get out of their way so it would be faster. He covered John's hand with his own and gently squeezed before letting go, a reassurance that he was still there.

He caught John glance at him through tired, confused eyes before turning slipping out quietly.

Sherlock tried not to show his eagerness waiting just outside the door, ears listening for any sign that John might walk out. Exactly twelve minutes and thirty-six seconds later, the door handle turned.

Sherlock heard John say thank you to the doctors one last time before he shut the door behind him and stood in front of Sherlock. He was now wearing a fresh pair of jeans (Sherlock bought and brought to him) and his jumper from home that Sherlock had also brought. Fresh bandages stood out from under his jumper collar.

John stumbled forward a few steps, kind of hunched over from his back. John smiled up at him, an apologetic, sad smile but it was still him. Alive.

Sherlock was lost for words, his throat dry. "I'm so sorry," he scratched and approached John, just inches between them now.

"Don't be sorry" John said, looking right into his eyes, heart, soul. John brushed a curl out of his face and tucked it behind his ear. "Can we go home?" He asked quietly.

"Of course," Sherlock smiled and reached up to gently take John's hand from his hair, kissed it softly and entwined their fingers. "Let's go. Mycroft has the car waiting outside."

Sherlock carefully helped maneuver John into the back seat, so that it wasn't painful in any way. Sherlock slid in the other side of the car and reattached their hands.

…

John was lying on Sherlock's bed, propped up on a couple pillows. Sherlock sat with his back against the wall, legs entangled with John's.

Sherlock's mum had given him a strong but gentle, careful hug. She also promised him a fresh stack of pancakes and a special dinner tonight. His father had shaken John's hand and patted him on his (good) shoulder, a show of respect and welcoming.

Sherlock was flipping his phone, twisting and tossing it between his hands. John had his eyes closed, a plate with only crumbs left on the side table. His mind was racing. John was thinking about everything from their relationship (what was it now? Did he ruin it? What does Sherlock think about me? Does he think I'm weak?) to the confusing events that had just passed.

Sherlock's phone suddenly chimed.

John quirked an eye open as Sherlock unlocked the device. ''It's my brother. He says the police want a statement from us."

"Oh," John said, not quite excitedly.

"John if you don't want to I'll get you out of it, just say that you're too injured and need rest, which isn't far from the truth. You don't have to go-"

"It's alright. I need to… talk about it, I think it will help knowing that I'm helping the police catch them, maybe it'll put my mind at ease a bit, yeh?" John said.

"Alright, but it you want to leave at any time, I'll get you out." Sherlock said in a protective tone.

John smiled, maybe they were okay. "Thanks," he whispered.

Sherlock helped John stand up, put on a sweater and walk down the stairs.

The rest of the family was out, after John had come back safely they had gone to work, or shopping or whatever. The boys got into a cab and sped off towards NSY.

Lestrade greeted them at the door, Mycroft standing a few steps behind. Greg led them into a small room, not an interrogation room, more of an unused office. "More comfortable, no pressure of one-way glass or security cameras, figured you'd prefer this," the officer said. John nodded in thanks and followed Sherlock into the room. Mycroft stood just inside the door, which was now shut.

Lestrade took a seat on one side of the polished dark wood table on a short office chair. The boys each took a 'waiting room' chair on the other side. A couple small pot lights dimly lit the space.

"I'm just going to ask you some questions, alright?" Greg asked. "If you feel uncomfortable or don't want to answer just say 'pass' and we'll move on. Shouldn't take too long, I'll take some notes but your voice or actions won't be recorded, easy."

John nodded, understanding. Sherlock looked at John for any signs of negativity.

"Can you… explain what happened, in your own words, like how you got there, who and stuff like that?" Greg picked up a pen.

"Well, I had just finished a football game, and Sherlock and I were in a… we weren't really talking and I didn't want to burden anyone with my life," Sherlock looked down in his lap, but John didn't notice because he was looking the other way. He continued, "so I was thinking of where I could spend the night, which is when I thought of my boss, Angelo. He owns the restaurant downtown where I work…ed. Anyway he said I could stay in the back room, it was like a guest room, with a couch, sink, all that. He gave me a meal on the house and I thanked him and went to sleep."

"Who gave you the food?" Greg asked.

"Alonso, the head chef, but it was fine, he's innocent as far as I know. Anyway when I woke up in the morning I felt good, and was getting ready to leave for school when Angelo brought me breakfast- eggs? I think, and some water." He stopped for a second. "That's all I remember before I woke up in the café."

Greg finished up a note and looked up. "And this café, was that the first time you've been?"

"Um, no, Sherlock and I went there before, for a drink, hot chocolate- not liquor, but it was good, I suppose a bit odd with the change of cashier but otherwise it was nice." John said.

"Did she happen to be lean, black and purple hair?" Greg sat forward.

"Yeah, you know her?" John asked.

"Disappearance case, not too long ago. Only her landlord noticed, her bills not being paid, no family or other connections turned up. It was a dead case. I guess now we know what happened." He grimly sat.

"Shame," John said, and he meant it. She seemed nice. "Anyway when I woke up they…..

…

After John had told his story it had been the better part of an hour. After hearing John's experience recounted firsthand, Sherlock felt guiltier than ever.

On their way out, Lestrade stopped them for a second. "Hey Sherlock, Mycroft's been telling me that you're interested in mystery and crime, and I was thinking, well, if you're interested, I could show you some stuff, introduce you to different areas and… stuff, only if you want." Greg looked a bit sheepish.

"Really!" Sherlock exclaimed, temporarily free of his guilt. "Yes! Please, yes, that would be awesome."

"Great," Greg said. "I'll be in touch." Greg turned to Mycroft, who was smiling at him in awe and amazement.

A wave of guilt returned over Sherlock, he glanced at John, who was smiling at him despite everything that had happened in the past few days.

Sherlock planned to address his guilt and express his apologies as soon as they got home, but for now, he opened the door and led John into a cab.


	28. Chapter 28

John was once again lying propped up on Sherlock's bed, typing away on Sherlock's laptop, making up some work that he missed. Sherlock was doing the same, sitting in his desk chair. John had asked Derek for his notes so he could catch up over the weekend. They would both return to school on Monday. It was almost 5 in the afternoon.

Something was off, ever since the interview Sherlock seemed a bit more distant, quieter. He still hugged John, or occasionally held his hand on the couch or something but it wasn't the same. It always felt like a guess. It's not right. John wants his Sherlock back, it will never be the same, but maybe that's okay, maybe it can be better.

John shut the laptop, not loudly, but not quietly either. Sherlock paused typing and slowly spun around to see John looking at him. Neither said anything for a moment. "Can we talk," John said finally.

Sherlock nodded.

John scooched over a bit and patted the space between him and the wall. Sherlock got up and sat down, back against the wall, knees tucked up.

"Can I just… say what I want to say first, then you talk after? I just wanna make sure I say what I mean, and what I need you to know, okay?" John asked, struggling to start.

Sherlock nodded.

"Okay, well, first of all, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry for all this, for when you got attacked, for leading you into this whole mess in the first place, and for any hurt I have caused you. I don't want you to think you mean nothing, you mean everything to me. I would never, ever cheat on you, not for anyone, especially not Victoria. You've been nicer to me than anyone, and I wouldn't give that up for the world. You gave me a family, I want to be a part of your life! I want to joke around with Mycroft, I want to talk to your mum about your past, I want to learn from your dad, and if you don't want me to be a part of that I completely understand."

Sherlock visibly bit his cheek to refrain from saying anything. Sherlock wore a pained expression, his heart yearning to express his feelings.

"They're your family, and that's special, and I get that, it's just, I don't… have a family, anymore, I'm lonely, but I don't feel like that when I'm with you. You are my reason for getting up in the morning, for trying in school. When I was in the café the other night I thought you hated me. I was giving up, but the angel on my shoulder told me to 'live for Sherlock Holmes.' You've saved me in so many ways and I can never repay that. In the text I said some terrible things, I hate myself every second for it, but I had to make it believable, and the right letters for the cover up and I'm just so sorry." John shut his eyes.

"In the hidden message I said… I said that I… love you. Um, well I couldn't say 'I like you' because it's not enough, and 'I need you' sounds desperate and selfish, and I've, I've just never felt this way before, about anyone, and I don't know if it's love but it's enough to know that I never want to lose you and you make me feel lighter than air and if you are disgusted by it or hate me for it then I understand and I'll leave, I just can't lose you, but I can live with just being friends if you don't want anything more anymore. But know that if you still want me I'd be the best partner ever, I will tell you how amazing you are constantly, I won't be afraid to show that I care for you, I won't care what people think or say, you're the only thing that matters. I'll stay up late if you want me to, I'll help you with work (not that you'd ever need it), I'd quit my job and football to spend every minute I have with you, I won't hang out with the other guys, or girls, I won't go to party's or their houses, and I will never lie to you ever again. I promise. But if you don't want that, I'd, I'd understand. I don't deserve you."

John let out a small sob.

Sherlock had tears in his eyes but remained respectively quiet like John had asked, though it visibly pained him.

"I'm-I'm, done-I'm… done-I'm" John stuttered.

Sherlock let out a deep breath and gently placed his hand on John's cheek, "oh John. Listen to me, are you listening?" He asked, coaxing John to open his eyes.

John shuddered and nodded, lifting his lids.

"I don't care about the consequences, I want to be with you because of who you are, not what other people think of you, or me, or us. I want you to be a part of my family, hell- you already are! I want to come home and see you laughing with my mum, looking through old photographs, I want you to wake up with me on Christmas morning and us to go down in our pajamas, sit by the fireplace and open gifts together. I don't care if it's not traditional, I don't care if we're only seventeen, and only known each other a couple months. I've never felt this way before either. I want you to be happy, I don't want you to quit your job, or football or your friends, I don't want to hold you back. It's your life, and I'm not going to stop you, I will accept you and be proud of you, and hold your hand through tough times. And I think I'm in love… and it scares me. I'm scared of the future, I'm scared of losing you and I'm scared of what this means but I'm also excited, and so happy. If you can accept my flaws and mistakes then I'll be happy to share my life with you. Whatd'ya say?" Sherlock huffed, breathless.

Sherlock wiped a tear from John's face. "Oh God, yes" John grinned and chuckled before lunging forward and connecting their lips.

John poured everything into the kiss, his gratitude and apologies, hopes and fears, his love and loyalty. Sherlock felt it all filling his heart, trying his best to reciprocate and make John feel loved.

A few minutes later, John pulled back, breathless, and rested his forehead against Sherlock's, fingers playing with his hair where his hand had ended up, the other hand clung onto the front of his shirt, against Sherlock's chest, feeling the elevated heartbeat, a promise that everything that just happened was true and real.

John leaned in to rest his head on Sherlock's shoulder, closing his eyes and just _feeling_ safe, comfort, home.

The moment, however, was disrupted by the wonderful Mrs. Holmes. She quietly knocked on the door and said softly, "Dinner's ready, if John's asleep then let the boy rest Sherlock,"

"S'okay mum, John's up," Sherlock replied.

"Did I wake him? Oh, I'm sorr- "but Sherlock cut her off.

"No mum,"

"Did you wake him up? Sherlock Holmes if you've disrupted that poor boy's sleep I swear-"

This time John cut her off, "No Mrs. Holmes, I've been up all day, I'm feeling much better." John chuckled and leaned back from their embrace.

"If you're lying… I swear…" Her voice trailed off as she walked away down the stairs.

John turned to Sherlock. "What do you think she would do if I told her you woke me up because I was sleeping on your favourite pillow and it was getting crushed?"

Sherlock glared at him, but not really mad. "First of all I don't have a favourite pillow," he stuck his tongue out, "and second of all don't you dare!"

John chuckled, "Or what?" and threw a pillow in Sherlock's pouty face.

"I'll get back to you on that, but for now, dinner awaits." He swung off the bed and kissed John's head as he skipped out of the room, leaving John to smile and follow.

 **A/N If you have any suggestions, for activities, (like Christmas) an epilogue (like John leaving for the army) don't hesitate to PM me! Also, comments and constructive criticism are much appreciated and enjoyed!**


	29. Epilogue

The date was February 14. Also known as Valentine's day.

John had been planning this since, well, technically since the beginning of their relationship about 6 months ago but only recently picked up the idea again. The scavenger hunt he had been planning with Derek, Victoria and Isaac.

In the time between, the boys, both their physical and mental forms have been through hell and back. Football season ended, but John remained friends with the team as well as Derek and the others, and Sherlock didn't mind because every day John reminded him that the past would not repeat itself. John got a new job at the library, where he worked for two hours after school while Sherlock read books or researched.

Sherlock started to pursue detective work more- analyzing details, trying to read people. He had especially taken interest in reading crime mystery books. He had also pointed a few things out to Greg that the Yard had missed which proved vital to the case.

Overall, everything was good and happy.

The idea of the scavenger hunt never left the back of John's mind, and now with a steady paycheck, a settled mind and a home he was ready to execute the plan. Luckily it was a Saturday, so John had the whole day planned, starting with the alarm clock set for 8 am.

The shrill alarm rang out, waking them from a deep sleep. The sun peaked through the crack in the window, dimly lighting the room.

Sherlock groaned and stuck his face in the pillow. John chuckled and rolled over so he was facing Sherlock. Then he planted a lingering kiss on the side of his head. Sherlock turned on his side now so they were facing each other. Then John cupped his face and kissed him good-morning. Sherlock was both too lazy and unwilling to move away until John pulled back and chirped "Happy Valentine's day!"

"Is that today?" Sherlock asked sleepily.

"Yes, and you're getting up right now, I have the day planned." John jumped out of the bed and brushed his teeth, showered and got dressed. All Sherlock had done was rolled off the bed.

John walked back into the room with towel-dried hair, smiling face and a fresh aura. "C'mon Up you get, or I'll invite Mycroft to come with me instead," John said jokingly.

"Please don't. I also fear that he has plans today, so you may be disappointed if that's what this comes to." Sherlock sniffed but got up anyway, smoothing out his pyjamas.

"Get dressed, you git, I'll meet you downstairs," John said fondly and walked out of the room.

…

After John made breakfast and both had eaten 'till they were full John handed Sherlock the first clue. It was a slip of paper inside a blank envelope, giving nothing away from the outside. Sherlock gave John a sceptical but excited glance before carefully tearing open the letter.

" _R_ _ **em**_ _em_ _ **b**_ _e_ _ **r**_ _th_ _ **e**_ _ti_ _ **m**_ _e I m_ _ **a**_ _de_ _ **y**_ _o_ _ **u**_ _wat_ _ **ch**_ _Bed_ _ **tim**_ _e St_ _ **o**_ _r_ _ **i**_ _e_ _ **s**_ _a_ _ **nd**_ _t_ _ **hat**_ _ni_ _ **gh**_ _t_ _ **y**_ _ou t_ _ **ol**_ _d_ _ **me a**_ _st_ _ **or**_ _y_ _ **ab**_ _ou_ _ **t u**_ _s s_ _ **pen**_ _di_ _ **n**_ _g t_ _ **h**_ _e re_ _ **s**_ _t o_ _ **f**_ _ou_ _ **r**_ _li_ _ **v**_ _e_ _ **s**_ _to_ _ **ge**_ _t_ _ **h**_ _er h_ _ **a**_ _pp_ _ **i**_ _ly_ _ **a**_ _nd_ _ **he**_ _a_ _ **l**_ _th_ _ **i**_ _ly,_ _ **I**_ _f_ _ **e**_ _ll_ _ **asl**_ _ee_ _ **p b**_ _e_ _ **for**_ _e_ _ **I**_ _c_ _ **ou**_ _l_ _ **d**_ _te_ _ **l**_ _l_ _ **y**_ _ou_ _ **ho**_ _w m_ _ **u**_ _ch I want that with you."_ Read the letter.

"Francis Bacon" Sherlock looked up, realization falling over his face. John smirked as Sherlock ran up the stairs, tripping a few times. John followed.

As Sherlock scrambled to open up his computer and turn it on, he mumbled more to himself than John "Francis Bacon invented a coding system in which he broke up his cypher text into groups of five characters. Each group represented a plaintext letter, when all the characters were put together it created the intended deciphered code. Now, where is it!" Sherlock quickly found the deciphering chart on the internet and began decrypting the message, by first highlighting every other 5 letters as to make it easier to see the different groups.

MUSEUM OF LONDON… Sherlock gave John a curious look but John just smiled in return. Sherlock continued… THE REST IS TO WASTE…

Sherlock looked up, "waste what? John?"

John chuckled and rolled his eyes, "I was gonna put time or space but I couldn't think of enough to add, plus I'd already got the point across, heh,"

Sherlock playfully sneered, "waste my time eh, well no more!" He jumped and ran at full speed down the stairs and out the door, leaving John to grin and follow him.

…

Sherlock ran for a bit until he got too tired and hailed a cab on a main street, with John right at his heels. "Well that was a good run," John was completely unfazed, it was like it was just a warmup for him while on the other hand, Sherlock was slightly panting, sweat running down the side of his face.

"Yeah… good," Sherlock coughed, then straightened up and rode in silence until they reached the museum.

He hopped out of the cab and burst through the glass doors, leaving John to pay and catch up.

Once inside, Sherlock stopped and looked around. Nothing exactly stood out to be special for him, but since he had never been here before it was all quite extraordinary.

John said from behind him, "I was hoping you'd like to, you know, just, look around for a bit, cos you like history and museums and stuff, also keep your eyes peeled! I might have left a clue somewhere," John smiled shyly.

"Of course I'd love to look around! This is a collection of _interesting_ artefacts from people who actually _lived._ " He drawled.

"Hey now," John chimed. Sherlock has been getting more… harsh on humans that weren't himself, or John, or his family- in regards to intelligence, purpose in life, waste of space and that sort.

Sherlock turned the corner of his lip up and strode off into the first exhibit he could see.

For the next hour and a bit, Sherlock was happy learning and committing whatever he deemed interesting or important to memory. John was happy making him happy.

Currently they were analyzing (well, John was just looking) an old animal skull of a rare species when something caught the corner of Sherlock's eye- an envelope that perfectly blended into the wooden floor's pattern. He threw a suspicious glance towards John, who couldn't hide his smile.

Sherlock bent over and delicately picked it up and ripped it open. There wasn't just a piece of paper this time, out slid a key. A simple key, and every key has a lock to open. Before he looked into that more, he slipped out the piece of paper which had some writing on it. The problem was that the letters were so small they were discernable.

"John I can't read this, it's too small," Sherlock said somewhat frustrated but more curious.

"Yes I know," John smirked. "Come, let's keep looking around, then we can get lunch."

For the next hour and a half they browsed around the rest of the museum, although Sherlock found it hard to concentrate due to the unanswered questions about the mysterious unreadable clue.

Eventually Sherlock burst, "John I'm dying. I need to know what this is," Sherlock flailed the little buggering piece of paper. John had the decency to chuckle at his pain.

"Alright, let's get lunch now. Getting a bit hungry anyway, C'mon," John said while tugging at Sherlock's hand, leading him out the door.

"Where are we going?" Sherlock asked while being dragged behind John.

"Guess," John said.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Give me a hint then."

John bent over and picked up a rock. "I suppose this gives it away, but I'm pretty hungry."

"Hard rock café, brilliant. Let's go," Sherlock smiled and flagged down a cab. How Sherlock could always manage to hail a cab, no matter where they were or how busy it was still amazed him.

…

Once finishing a delightful lunch, Sherlock looked at John, almost bouncing in his seat. Eagerness shone in his eyes while John paid the bill, then jumped up and John smirked. "What now?" Sherlock asked him.

"Go up and ask that man admiring the posters if he has a package for you," John said with a twinkle in his eye.

Sherlock huffed. "But John… people… I don't wanna talk to strangers," and he sighed.

"I mean we can just go home and leave the key and tiny note for another day…" He trailed off. Sherlock glared at John, then smiled and stalked off to meet the man.

From afar, John watched Sherlock approach the man and say something. Recognition sparked in the man's eyes and he walked off to retrieve something. Sherlock gave John a questioning look.

He returned not long after with a rolled up something and a small envelope. Sherlock thanked the man and returned to John, barely able to wait until they've left the restaurant to open the package.

First, he unrolled the object to reveal a 1980's Queen poster of the band's _Greatest Hits_ album, autographed by all the members. "Is this real?" Sherlock asked, eyes glued to the poster.

John scratched the back of his head nervously. "Yea, um I ran into it in the corner of a thrift store and asked the expert here to see if it was authentic. Turns out I got really lucky and it is, s I asked them to keep it safe until today. I thought you'd like it, remember that day when I said that I didn't know you liked classic rock, and you said that there's a lot of things I don't know about you, yet." John looked at his shoes.

"I love it John, and of course I remember," Sherlock said, pecking the side of John's head before turning his attention to the new envelope, which bulged a little.

He tore into it, sliding out a small glass circle with a plastic type casing. "What's this?" Sherlock said, turning it over in his hands.

"It's, um, a magnifying glass, it can fit in your pocket so you can take it wherever you want," John smiled.

"John stop being nervous. Do you really think you could get me something I wouldn't like? You are amazing and kind and you know me so well." Sherlock paused to kiss the side of John's nose. "I just feel bad because you're doing so much for me, and I only have one or two things for you."

John ogled in surprise, "You got me something? For Valentine's day?" He inquired.

"Of course I did, I'm not obtuse," Sherlock replied, and before John could say anything else he dug into his pocket for the previous note.

With a sound of satisfaction, he pulled it out and unfolded it carefully, then bending on the ground to put his other things down and get an easier angle on the paper.

Using the magnifying glass, he discovered the paper read – "At least one body a day is fished out of me st." Sherlock read aloud. "Really John this is too easy. 'Fished' gave it away."

So they got in a taxi and Sherlock told the driver "Lower Thames Street."

…

Twenty minutes later they arrived at the street, paid the cabbie and hopped out. Sherlock rubbed his hands together, "okay what am I looking for?" he inquired.

"I dunno, maybe something you can open with a key?" John smirked.

Sherlock made an 'aha' noise and stalked off towards along the sidewalk. It didn't take very long for him to spot the dark blue backpack tied to the base of a streetlamp with a bike lock.

"You put a lot of faith in Londoners John," he said but grinned nonetheless.

John, happy to see the backpack still there, followed earnestly.

Sherlock tugged the key out of his front pocket, accidentally dropping a few things. "I get to keep the backpack right?" He asked.

John laughed and nodded his head.

"Good, carrying all this around is getting frustrating." He opened the lock and wrapped up the wire, shoving it the bag in exchange for taking out the thing that occupied some of the space already. He pulled out a hardcover book, titled 'The Science of Deduction.' Sherlock blinked in John's direction. "How did you know?"

John chuckled and replied, "Well you've pretty much read all the ones at the library, and I've noticed you searching up this very specific book on the computer, figured you were interested. Although I have to say I may have written something in there myself."

Sherlock flipped open the book cover, and on the first page, in John's handwriting, were some words. _Take me to the place we had our first date._

Sherlock carefully emptied the contents of his pockets into the backpack and slung it around his shoulder. Then he stood up and slung his arm around John possessively. John leaned in and wrapped his own around Sherlock's waist as they made their way to the park.

…

Once they'd found the tree, John told Sherlock to sit, which he did, then jogged off.

Sherlock smiled to himself, despite how tedious romantic holidays were, he couldn't deny that he had an incredible time being spoiled today. And he couldn't wait to give John his presents either.

John returned with a bag of tacos. "I dunno if you're hungry but, when you are…" John trailed off.

"Thank you, John," Sherlock said and took the bag, pulling out the food.

Sherlock dug in, and after a moment so did John, and they just sat in companionable silence, listening to the wind rustle the trees and the soft crunch of frosty grass under the feet of passer-Byers.

Once the food was finished off and the garbage thrown out, John realized how cold it had gotten. The day was fairly mild for February, but now that the sun was setting and the wind picking up it had gotten chilly.

John shivered, and Sherlock sidled up next to him. "So," John began, "how'd you like today?"

He seemed under confident, for his usual self. "I loved it. It was creative and fun and got us out of the house, enticing and frustrating and curious. You know me so well and there's no one else who could ever get me that many things that I would actually like. I don't know how or when you did it. John, you are amazing." Sherlock said, all while making eye contact.

John grinned brighter than ever, and Sherlock just had to lean in and kiss him. And so for the next few minutes, they sat undisturbed, softly and quietly understanding each other, when a large gust of wind blew against John's back, causing him to shiver. Sherlock leaned back a bit and rubbed his hands against John's arms to try and warm him up a bit.

"I suppose I'll give you my gifts now," Sherlock smiled and pulled back to grab something out of his pocket. John looked eager and curious.

Sherlock handed over a small red box, about the size of a book, to John. John lifted the top off and inside was a sleek black screen, a phone! John looked up in amazement. "I… I don't know what to say, I can't accept this Sherlock! It's way too expensive!"

"Nonsense, now we have a way to communicate with each other, and I can help you set up music, and you can do research on it, play games, do whatever you like."

John lifted up the thin object like it was the most fragile piece of glass in the world. He turned it over and ran his fingers over it lightly. "This is amazing, thank you, my goodness."

"One more thing," Sherlock said and dug around in the front pocket of the backpack.

"I can't take anything else!" John exclaimed.

"You can and you will, look how many things you got me," Sherlock said. John resigned.

Sherlock told John to close his eyes, and he complied, curious.

When Sherlock told him to open them, he had in his hands a silver chain. John scooted backwards. "Nononono I can't, Sherlock that's way too much."

Sherlock held out his hands further. "John it's a gift… do you… do you not like it?" he frowned and shrunk back a bit.

Dammit, John thought. "Of course I love it, it's just, why did you spend so much money?"

Sherlock beckoned for John to come closer, and with a look he scooted back forwards. John let Sherlock put the chain around his neck, breath ghosting over each other's faces. "Because I'm in love with you."

John's heart stopped. He sat there staring unbelievably into Sherlock's impossible eyes. Sherlock acted calm and patient but inside he was questioning if this was a mistake, if he was going too fast.

What seemed like an eternity later John snapped back into reality and grabbed the front of Sherlock's shirt, pulling him in for an aggressive kiss, which scrambled Sherlock's thoughts even more into nothing. His brain was silence and all that existed was him and John, right here, right now.

John was thinking about how anyone could love him, after all he's been through. How every moment in his life led him to this. His sister's relationships, his father's drinking, his mother dying, running away, his sister leaving, and the decision to buy those pills. Everything he's ever done led him to that night he heard the words whispered in his ear 'Live for Sherlock Holmes.'

How being with Sherlock and his parents, and even his brother felt more like home then he'd ever felt, how he knew he was ruined the day Sherlock took him to the park that first time, the dread he'd felt when he lied and almost lost Sherlock because he was trying to do something nice.

How it almost ended in him dying, and the number of times Sherlock had saved him, and something just clicked into place, because he knew that this was right.

Breathless, John pulled back and stared into Sherlock's dark eyes. "I love you too."

* * *

 _Wow, so this will be the end I think. Thank you all who have read, liked, commented or messaged me. This story definitely wouldn't have gotten so long without you so thank you and if you enjoyed please please comment anything, don't be shy! It makes me happy for a long time. Also if you have any constructive criticism or anything I will take that as a lesson and further apply it to any future writing!_

 _This story was not beta read or brit picked or meant for formal writing, it's purely for fun and leisure, though i did do a bit of research on google maps about some of the locations and cyphers and that sort._

 _This is the Francis Bacon cypher and the website I found it on, I thought it was an interesting and different way to convey a coded message, although it took a while to actually get across the message._

 **A=***** G=**BB* M=*BB** S=B**B* Y=BB*****

 **B=****B H=**BBB N=*BB*B T=B**BB Z=BB**B**

 **C=***B* I=*B*** O=*BBB* U=B*B****

 **D=***BB J=*B**B P=*BBBB V=B*B*B**

 **E=**B** K=*B*B* Q=B**** W=B*BB***

 **F=**B*B L=*B*BB R=B***B X=B*BBB**

 **.**


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